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WASHINGTON IRVING 



MAYNARD'S ENGLISH CLASSIC SERIES— SPECIAL NUMBER 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH 



A BIOGRAPHY 



WASHINGTON IRVING 



WITH BIOGRAPHY, CRITICAL OPINIONS, AND 
EXPLANATORY NOTES 




NEW YORK 
MAYNARD, MERRILL, & CO. 



LIBRARY of CONGftSSS 
I wo Copies natciveo 

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Copyright, 1864, by 
GEORGE P. PUTNAM 



Copyright, 1904, by 
MAYNARD, MERRILL, & CO. 



Ube Itnfcfcerbocfcer press, "Hew ©or* 



IRVING'S WORKS. 

PUBLISHED 
IN 

1807 Salmagundi. 

1809 Knickerbocker's History of New York. 

1818 The Sketch-Book. 

1822 Bracebridge Hall. 

1824 Tales of a Traveler. 

1828 Life and Voyages of Columbus. 

1829 Conquest of Granada. 

1831 Companions of Columbus. 

1832 The Alhambra. 

1835 Legends of the Conquest of Spain. 
" A Tour of the Prairies. 

" Recollections of Abbotsford and Newstead Abbey, 

1836 Astoria. 

1837 Adventures of Captain Bonneville. 

1849 Oliver Goldsmith. 

1850 Mahomet and His Successors. 
1855 Wolfert's Boost. 

" Life of Washington, Volume I. 

1859 Life of Washington, Fifth and last Volume. 



BIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM. 

Pierre M. Irving. Life of Washington Irving. 4 vols. The 

standard biography. 
Charles Dudley Warner. Life of Irving. American Men of Letters 

Series. 
David J. Hill. Life of Irving. American Authors' Series. 

Hazlitt. _ Spirit of the Age. 

Jeffrey. Bracebridge Hall. 

William C. Bryant. Address before the New York Historical 

Society, 1860. 
H. W. Longfellow. Address before the Massachusetts Historical 

Society, 1860. 
Curtis. Literary and Social Essays. 

Howells. My Literary Passions. 

Lowell. Fable for Critics. 

Studies of Irving. Containing Essays and Addresses by Warner, 

Bryant, and George P. Putnam. 
Encyclopedia Britannica. Vol. XIII. An article by Richard Garnett. 
William Makepeace Thackeray. Nil nisi Bonum, in Roundabout 
Papers. 



LIFE OF WASHINGTON IKVING. 

Washington" Ikving was born in New York City April 3, 
1783, the youngest of eleven children of William and Sarah 
Irving. His. father, a Scotch seaman, settled in New York 
twenty years before and was established in trade. He was 
a man of great probity and honor, but a strict disciplinarian. 
From his mother Irving inherited that geniality which dis- 
tinguished him in life as well as in his writings. 

Irving's father, though not a wealthy man, gave two of 
his sons a college education, but the youngest did not have 
this advantage, perhaps because of ill health. His educa- 
tion began when he was four years old and continued in a 
desultory fashion until 1799. For some years after the 
latter date he pursued the study of law in an irregular way. 
His health, however, was not of the best, and in 1804 he was 
sent abroad in the hope of improving it. He was successful 
in his search for strength, and also in the attainment of 
those refinements which the Old World could offer to a sus- 
ceptible mind. The grandeur of Eome, the gay beauty of 
Paris, and the busy throngs of London all had their influence 
on him. He saw Nelson's fleet going to Trafalgar, and later 
was awed at the scene of the great admiral lying in state. 
The actress, Mrs. Siddons, charmed him, — the theater was a 
forbidden pleasure of his youth, — and by many another 
experience was his mind stocked with the impressions which 
colored his later work. 

In 1806 Irving returned to New York, and with his 
brother William, and James Iv. Paulding, founded Salma- 
gundi, a periodical of the same type as the Spectator. At 



LIFE OF WASHINGTON IRVING. iii 

this time, too, occurred an event which had great influence 
on his life and gave his writings a deeper and richer note. 
This was the death of Miss Hoffman, daughter of his legal 
instructor, to whom he was attached with an affection that 
lasted till his death. " When I became once more calm and 
collected," writes Irving, " I applied myself, by way of occu- 
pation, to the finishing of my work." 

This work was the " History of New York," by Dietrich 
Knickerbocker. The book is a burlesque history of New 
York under the dominion of the Dutch, filled with boister- 
ous humor, and giving a lifelike picture of the town where 
" burgomasters were chosen by weight." When it was pub- 
lished, in 1809, it met with an immediate success and 
established the author's reputation so well that when, in 
1815, he sailed for Europe the second time, he was assured 
of admission to the literary circles of the Old World. 

In the meantime Irving had become a partner in a com- 
mercial house established by his brother in England and New 
York. At the time of his arrival in Europe this business 
was seriously threatened. He worked with unusual energy 
to resuscitate the lost prosperity, but the firm failed in 1818 
and Irving was thrown on his resources. He refused the 
offer of a position in the navy department with a salary of 
$2500, feeling that he could do better with his pen. His 
feeling was justified, for in 1819 the first papers of his 
" Sketch-Book " began to appear in New York and Philadel- 
phia, and in the following year John Murray published the 
work in London. It was received with enthusiasm, and 
Irving was at once recognized as one of the leading writers 
of the day. All approved his kindliness, his gentle humor, — 
more refined than in his earlier work, — and the charming 
fancy which, though it be not the fire of imagination pos- 
sessed by the supreme writers, nevertheless imparts a lasting 



iv LIFE OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 

attraction to his work. In 1822 appeared " Bracebridge 
Hall " ; in 1824, " Tales of a Traveler." 

Soon after the publication of the latter work, having been 
commissioned to make some translations from the Spanish, 
Irving proceeded to Madrid. Here he wrote " The Life of 
Columbus/' which brought him forward as a serious his- 
torian. To this stay we also owe those delightful books, 
" The Conquest of Granada " and " Tales of the Alhambra," 
the latter published at the end of a stay of three years in 
London as Secretary of Legation. 

In 1832, the recipient of many honors, Irving set sail for 
the home from which he had been absent seventeen years. 
He was received by the nation with enthusiasm and was much 
sought after by all, never losing, however, his characteristic 
modesty. During the next ten years, residing at Sunnyside, 
his home on the Hudson, and traveling over his native 
country, he produced his " Tour on the Prairies " (1835), 
"Astoria" (1836), and "Adventures of Captain Bonne- 
ville " (1837). 

In 1842 he was appointed Minister to Spain, where he 
remained four years, returning in 1846. His remaining 
works were biographies, with the exception of " Wolfert's 
Eoost " (1854). In 1849 appeared the " Life of Mahomet " 
and the " Life of Goldsmith," — the latter a subject for which 
Irving was especially fitted by the sympathy of his spirit 
with that of the poet, — and finally, in 1859, appeared the 
fifth and last volume — the first came out in 1852 — of his 
"Life of Washington." This presents a clear, accurate, 
and often vivid picture of the great general and his times, 
but it lacks some of the vigor and charm of Irving's earlier 
works. 

His last years were passed at Sunnyside, in the midst of 
the beautiful scenes which he has immortalized. He died 



LIFE OF WASHINGTON IRVING. V 

November 28, 1859, the same year with Prescott the his- 
torian, and Macaulay. A friend who saw much of our 
author in his latter days thus describes him: "He had dark 
gray eyes, a handsome straight nose, which might perhaps 
be called large; a broad, high, full forehead, and a small 
mouth. I should call him of medium height, about five feet 
and nine inches, and inclined to be a trifle stout. His smile 
was exceedingly genial, lightening up his whole face, and 
rendering it very attractive; while, if he were about to say 
anything humorous, it would beam forth from his eyes even 
before his words were spoken." 

In one of his charming Easy Chair essays, George 
William Curtis .says : " Irving was as quaint a. figure as the 
Dietrich Knickerbocker in the preliminary advertisement of 
the ( History of New York/ Thirty years ago he might 
have been seen on an autumnal afternoon, tripping with an 
elastic step along Broadway, with low quartered shoes neatly 
tied, and a Talma cloak — a short garment like the cape of a 
coat. There was a chirping, cheery, old-school air in his 
appearance which was undeniably Dutch, and most harmoni- 
ous with the association of his writing. He seemed, indeed, 
to have stepped out of his own books; and the cordial grace 
and humor of his address, if he stopped for a passing chat, 
were delightfully characteristic. He was then our most 
famous man of letters, but he was simply free from all self- 
consciousness and assumption and dogmatism." 



CRITICAL ESTIMATES. 

"Washington Irving! Why, gentlemen, I don't go up- 
stairs to bed two nights out of the seven without taking 
Washington Irving under my arm." — Charles Dickens. 

"I know of no books which are oftener lent than those 
that bear the pseudonym of ' Geoffrey Crayon.' Few, very 
few, can show a long succession so pure, so graceful, and so 
varied, as Mr. Irving." — Mary Russell Mitford. 

" Eich and original humor, great refinement of feeling and 
delicacy of sentiment. Style accurately finished, easy, and 
transparent. Accurate observer: his descriptions are cor- 
rect, animated, and beautiful." — -George S. Hillard. 

" If he wishes to study a style which possesses the charac- 
teristic beauties of Addison's, its ease, simplicity, and 
elegance, with greater accuracy, point, and spirit, let him 
give his days and nights to the volumes of Irving." — Edward 
Everett's "Advice to a Student." 

" He seems to have been born with a rare sense of 
literary proportion and form; into this, as into a mold, were 
run his apparently lazy and really acute observations of life. 
That he thoroughly mastered such literature as he fancied 
there is abundant evidence; that his style was influenced by 
the purest English models is also apparent. But there re- 
mains a large margin for wonder how, with his want of 
training, he could have elaborated a style which is distinctly 
his own, and is as copious, felicitous in the choice of words, 



CRITICAL ESTIMATES. vii 

flowing, spontaneous, flexible, engaging, clear, and as little 
wearisome when read continuously in quantity as any in the 
English tongue." — Charles Dudley Warner. 

" He was born almost with the republic; the pater patrice 
had laid his hand on the child's head. He bore Washing- 
ton's name: he came amongst us bringing the kindest 
sympathy, the most artless, smiling good will . . . Eeceived 
in England with extraordinary tenderness and friendship 
(Scott, Southey, Byron, a hundred others have borne witness 
to their liking for him), he was a messenger of good will 
and peace between his country and ours. ' See, friends! ' 
he seems to say, i these English are not so wicked, rapacious, 
callous, proud, as you have been taught to believe them. I 
went amongst them a humble man; won my way by my 
pen; and, when known, found every hand held out to me 
with kindliness and welcome. . . . 

"... In America the love and regard for Irving were a 
national sentiment ... It seemed to me, during a year's 
travel in the country, as if no one ever aimed a blow at 
Irving. . . . The country takes pride in the fame of its men 
of letters. The gate of his own charming little domain on the 
beautiful Hudson Eiver was forever swinging before visitors 
who came to him. He shut out no one. . . . 

" And how came it that this house was so small, when Mr. 
Irving's books were sold by hundreds of thousands, — nay, 
millions, — when his profits were known to be large, and the 
habits of life of the good old bachelor were notoriously 
modest and simple? . . . 

" Irving had such a small house and such narrow rooms, 
because there was a great number of people to occupy them, 
He could only afford to keep the old horse (which, lazy and 
aged as it was, managed once or twice to run away with that 



vni CRITICAL ESTIMATES. 

careless old horseman) . . . Irving could only live very 
modestly, because the wifeless, childless man had a number 
of children to whom he was as a father. He had as many 
as nine nieces, I am told — I saw two of these ladies at his 
house — with all of whom the dear old man had shared the 
produce of his labor and genius. 

" ' Be a good man, my dear. 9 One can't but think of these 
last words of the veteran Chief of Letters, who had tasted 
and tested the value of worldly success, admiration, prosper- 
ity. Was Irving not good, and, of his works, was not his 
life the best part? In his family, gentle, generous, good- 
humored, affectionate, self-denying: in society, a delightful 
example of complete gentlemanhood; quite unspoiled by 
prosperity; never obsequious to the great (or, worse still, to 
the base and mean, as some public men are forced to be in 
his and other countries); eager to acknowledge every con- 
temporary's merit; always kind and affable to the young 
members of his calling; in his professional bargains and mer- 
cantile dealings delicately honest and grateful; one of the 
most charming masters of our lighter language; the constant 
friend to us and our nation; to men of letters doubly dear, 
not for his wit and genius merely, but as an exemplar of 
goodness, probity, and pure life." — William Makepeace 
Thackeray. 

"The ' Sketch-Book' is a timid, beautiful work; with some 
childish pathos in it; some rich, pure, bold poetry; some 
courageous writing, some wit, and a world of humor; so 
happy, so natural, so altogether unlike that of any other 
man, dead or alive, that we would rather have been the 
writer of it, fifty times over, than of everything else he has 
ever written." — Blackwood, 1825. 



Peefaoe. 




PIN the course of a revised edition of my works I 
have come to a biographical sketch of Gold- 
smith, published several years since. It was 
written hastily, as introductory to a selection from his 
writings ; and, though the facts contained in it were col- 
lected from various sources, I was chiefly indebted for 
them to the voluminous work of Mr. James Prior, who 
had collected and collated the most minute particulars 
of the poet's history with unwearied research and scru- 
pulous fidelity; but had rendered them, as I thought, 
in a form too cumbrous and overlaid with details and 
disquisitions, and matters uninteresting to the general 
reader. 

"When I was about of late to revise my biographical 
sketch, preparatory to republication, a volume was put 
into my hands, recently given to the public by Mr. John 
Forster, of the Inner Temple, who, likewise availing him- 
self of the labors of the indefatigable Prior, and of a few 
new lights since evolved, has produced a biography of 



x PREFACE. 

the poet, executed with a spirit, a feeling, a grace, and an 
eloquence, that leave nothing to be desired. Indeed it 
would have been presumption in me to undertake the 
subject after it had been thus felicitously treated, did 
I not stand committed by my previous sketch. That 
sketch now appeared too meagre and insufficient to 
satisfy public demand ; yet it had to take its place in the 
revised series of my works unless something more satis- 
factory could be substituted. Under these circumstances 
I have again taken up the subject, and gone into it with 
more fulness than formerly, omitting none of the facts 
which I considered illustrative of the life and character oi 
the poet, and giving them in as graphic a style as I could 
command. Still the hurried manner in which I have had 
to do this amidst the pressure of other claims on my 
attention, and with the press dogging at my heels, has 
prevented me from giving some parts of the subject the 
thorough handling I could have wished. Those who 
would like to see it treated still more at large, with the 
addition of critical disquisitions and the advantage of 
collateral facts, would do well to refer themselves to 
Mr. Prior's circumstantial volumes, or to the elegant and 
discursive pages of Mr. Forster. 

For my own part, I can only regret my shortcomings in 
what to me is a labor of love ; for it is a tribute of grati- 
tude to the memory of an author whose writings were the 
delight of my childhood, and have* been a source of 
enjoyment to me throughout life ; and to whom, of all 



PREFACE. xi 

others, I may address the beautiful apostrophe of Dante 
to Virgil, — 

Tu se' lo mio maestro, e '1 mio autore : 
Tu se' solo colui, da cu' io tolsi 
Lo bello stile, che m' ha fatto onore. 

W. L 

^unnyside, Aug. 1, 184-9. 



Contents. 



CHAPTER I. 

PASS 

Birth and Parentage. — Characteristics of the Goldsmith Race. — 
Poetical Birthplace. — Goblin House. — Scenes of Boyhood. — 
Lissoy. — Picture of a Country Parson. — Goldsmith's Schoolmis- 
tress. — Byrne, the Village Schoolmaster. — Goldsmith's Hornpipe 
and Epigram. — Uncle Contarine.— School Studies and School 
Sports. — Mistakes of a Night 21 

CHAPTER II. 

Improvident Marriages in the Goldsmith Family. — Goldsmith at the 
University. — Situation of a Sizer. — Tyranny of Wilder, the Tu- 
tor. — Pecuniary Straits. — Street-Ballads. — College Riot. — Gal- 
lows Walsh. — College Prize. — A Dance interrupted 36 

CHAPTER III. 

Goldsmith rejected by the Bishop. — Second Sally to see the World. — 
Takes Passage for America. 1 — Ship sails without him. — Return 
on Fiddle-back.— A Hospitable Friend.— The Counsellor 53 

CHAPTER IV. 

Sallies forth as a Law Student. —Stumbles at the Outset.— Cousin 
Jane and the Valentine. — A Family Oracle. — Sallies forth as a 
xiii 



xiv CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Student of Medicine. — Hocus-Pocus of a Boarding-House. — 
Transformations of a Leg of Mutton. — The Mock Ghost.— 
Sketches of Scotland. — Trials of Toadyism. — A Poet's Purse for 
a Continental Tour , 62 

CHAPTER V. 

The Agreeable Fellow-Passengers. — Risks from Friends picked up by 
the Wayside. — Sketches of Hull and the Dutch. — Shifts while a 
poor Student at Leyden. — The Tulip-Speculation. — The Provi- 
dent Flute. — Sojourn at Paris.— Sketch of Voltaire. — Travelling 
Shifts of a Philosophic Vagabond 11 

CHAPTER VI. 

Landing in England. — Shifts of a Man without Money. — The Pestle 
and Mortar. — Theatricals in a Barn. — Launch upon London. — 
A City Night-Scene.— Struggles with Penury. — Miseries of a 
Tutor. — A Doctor in the Suburb. — Poor Practice and Second- 
hand Finery. — A Tragedy in Embryo. — Project of the Written 
Mountains 90 

CHAPTER VII. 

Life of a Pedagogue. — Kindness to Schoolboys. — Pertness in Return. 
— Expensive Charities. — The Griffiths and the '"Monthly Re- 
view." — Toils of a Literary Hack. — Rupture with the Griffiths. . 99 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Newbery, of Picture-Book Memory. — How to keep up Appearances. — 
Miseries of Authorship. — A poor Relation. — Letter to Hodson. . . 105 

CHAPTER IX. 

Hackney Authorship. — Thoughts of Literary Suicide. — Return to 
Peckham. — Oriental Projects. — Literary Enterprise to raise 
Funds.— Letter to Edward Wells; To Robert Bryanton.— Death 
of Uncle Contarine.— Letter to Cousin Jane 114 



CONTENTS, X v 

CHAPTER X. 

PAOB 

Oriental Appointment ; and Disappointment.— Examination at the 
College o± Surgeons. — How to procure a Suit of Clothes.— Fresh 
Disappointment. — A Tale of Distress. — The Suit of Clothes in 
Pawn.— Punishment for doing an Act of Charity. — Gayeties of 
Green-Arbor Court. — Letter to his Brother. — Life of Voltaire. — 
Scroggins, an Attempt at mock-heroic Poetry 125 

CHAPTER XL 

Publication of "The Inquiry.' —Attack. 1 by Griffiths' Review. — 
Kenrick the Liteiary Ishmaelite. — Periodical Literature. — Gold- 
smith's Essays. — Cu-rick as a Manager. — Smollett and his 
Schemes. — Change of Lodgings. — The Robin Hood Club 145 

CHAPTER XII. 

New Lodgings. — Visits of Ceremony. — Hangers-on. — Pilkington and 
the White Mouse. — Introduction to Dr. Johnson. — Davies and 
his Bookshop. — Pretty Mrs. Davies. — Foote and his Projects. — 
Criticism of the Cudgel 154 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Oriental Projects. — Literary Jobs. — The Cherokee Chiefs. — Merry 
Islington and the White Conduit House. — Letters on the History 
of England. — James Boswell. — Dinner of Davies. — Anecdotes of 
Johnson and Goldsmith 162 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Hogarth a Visitor at Islington; His Character.— Street Studies. — 
Sympathies between Authors and Painters. — Sir Joshua Rey- 
nolds ; His Character ; His Dinners. — The Literary Club ; Its 
Members. — Johnson's Revels with Lanky and Beau. — Gold- 
smith at the Club 173 



xv i CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER XT. 

PAGB 

Johnson a Monitor to Goldsmith ; Finds him in Distress with his 
Landlady: Relieved by the "Vicar of Wakefield." — The Ora- 
torio. — Poem of the "Traveller." — The Poet and his Dog. — Suc- 
cess of the Poem. — Astonishment at the Club. — Observations on 
the Poem 18 

CHAPTER XVI. 

New Lodgings.— Johnson's Compliment.— A Titled Patron. — The 
Poet at Northumberland House. — His Independence of the Great. 
— The Countess of Northumberland. — "Edwin and Angelina." 
— Gosfield and Lord Clare. — Publication of Essays. — Evils of a 
Rising Reputation. — Hangers-on. — Job-Writing. — " Goody Two- 
shoes." — A Medical Campaign. — Mrs. Sidebotham 193 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Publication of the " Vicar of Wakefield " ; Opinions concerning it: 
Of Dr. Johnson; Of Rogers the Poet; Of Goethe; Its Merits; 
Exquisite Extract. — Attack by Kenrick. — Reply. — Book-Build- 
ing. — Project of a Comedy 204 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Social Position of Goldsmith; His Colloquial Contests with Johnson. 

— Anecdotes and Illustrations 215 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Social Resorts.— The Shilling Whist-Club.— A Practical Joke.— The 
Wednesday Club.— The "Tun of Man."— The Pig-Butcher.— 
Tom King. — Hugh Kelly. — Glover and his Characteristics 224 

CHAPTER XX. 

The Great Cham of Literature and the King. — Scene at Sir Joshua 
Reynolds's. — Goldsmith accused of Jealousy. — Negotiations with 
Garrick. — The Author and the Actor; Their Correspondence. . . . 230 



CONTENTS. xvii 

CHAPTER XXL 

PAGE 

More Hack- Authorship. — Tom Davies and the Roman History. — 
Canonbuiy Castle. — Political Authorship. —Pecuniary Tempta- 
tion.— Death of Newbery the Elder 238 

CHAPTER XXII. 

rheati .cal Manoeuvring. — The Comedy of "False Delicacy." — First 
Performance of the " Good-natured Man." — Conduct of Johnson. 
- Conduct of the Author.— Intermeddling of the Press 243 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Burning the Candle at both Ends. — Fine Apartments. — Fine Furni- 
ture. — Fine Clothes. — Fine Acquaintances. — Shoemaker's Holi- 
day and Jolly-Pigeon Associates. — Peter Barlow, Glover, and the 
Hampstead Hoax. — Poor Friends among Great Acquaintances. . 250 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

? it\luced again to Book-Building. — Rural Retreat at Shoemaker's 
Paradise. — Death of Henry Goldsmith ; Tributes to his Memory 
in the "Deserted Village "... 257 

CHAPTER XXV. 

%mer at Bickerstaff's. — Hiffernan and his Impecuniosity. — Ken- 
rick's Epigram. — Johnson's Consolation. — Goldsmith's Toilet. — - 
The Bloom -colored Coat. — New Acquaintances ; The Hornecks. 
— A Touch of Poetry and Passion. — The Jessamy Bride 262 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Goldsmith in the Temple.— Judge Day and Grattan. — Labor and 
Dissipation. — Publication of the Roman History. — Opinions of 
it. — "History of Animated Nature." — Temple Rookery. — Anec- 
dotes of a Spider 270 



xviii CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

PAGE 

Honors at the Royal Academy. — Letter to his Brother Maurice. — 
Family Fortunes. — Jane Contarine and the Miniature. — Por- 
traits and Engravings. — School Associations. — Johnson and 
Goldsmith in Westminster Abbey 281 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Publication of the "Deserted Village;" Notices and Illustrations 
of it 288 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

The Poet among the Ladies ; Description of his Person and Man- 
ners. — Expedition to Paris with the Horneck Family. — The 
Traveller of Twenty and the Traveller of Forty. — Hickey, the 
Special Attorney. — An unlucky Exploit 297 

CHAPTER XXX. 

Death of Goldsmith's Mother. — Biography of Parnell. — Agreement 
with Davies for the History of Rome. — Life of Bolingbroke. — 
The Haunch of Venison 310 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

Dinner at the Royal Academy. — The Rowley Controversy. — Horace 
Walpole's Conduct to Chatterton.— Johnson atRedcliffe Church. 
— Goldsmith's History of England. — Davies's Criticism. — Letter 
to Bennet Langton 316 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

Marriage of Little Comedy.— Goldsmith at Barton.— Practical Jokes 
at the Expense of his Toilet. — Amusements at Barton. — Aquatic 
Misadventure 323 



CONTENTS. xix 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

PAGE 

Dinner at General Oglethorpe's. — Anecdotes of the General. — Dispute 
about Duelling. — Ghost Stories 328 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

Mr. Joseph Cradock. — An Author's Confidings. — An Amanuensis. — 
Life at Edgeware. — Goldsmith Conjuring. — George Colman. — 
The Fantoccini 334 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

Broken Health. — Dissipation and Debts. — The Irish Widow. — Prac- 
tical Jokes. — Scrub. — A Misquoted Pun. — Malagrida. — Gold- 
smith proved to be a Fool. — Distressed Ballad-Singers. — The 
Poet at Ranelagh 345 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

Invitation to Christmas. — The Spring- Velvet Coat. — The Haymaking 
Wig. — The Mischances of Loo. — The Fair Culprit. — A Dance 
with the Jessamy Bride 375 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

Theatrical Delays. — Negotiations with Colman. — Letter to Garrick. — 
Croaking of the Manager. — Naming of the Play. — " She Stoops 
to Conquer." — Foote's Primitive Puppet-show, "Piety on Pat- 
tens." — First Performance of the Comedy. — Agitation of the 
Author. — Success. — Colman Squibbed out of Town 364 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

A Newspaper Attack. — The Evans Affray. —Johnson's Comment. . . . 378 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

Boswell in Holy- Week. — Dinner at Oglethorpe's. —Dinner at Pao- 
li's. — The Policy of Truth. — Goldsmith affects Independence of 



xx CONTENTS. 

ii.au 

Royalty. — Paoli's Compliment. — Johnson's Eulogium on the 

Fiddle. — Question about Suicide.— Boswell's Subserviency 385 

CHAPTEE XL. 

Changes in the Literary Club. — Johnson's Objection to Garrick.— 

Election of Boswell 396 

CHAPTER XLL 

Dinner at Dilly's. — Conversations on Natural History. — Intermed- 
dling of Boswell. — Dispute about Toleration. — Johnson's Rebuff 
to Goldsmith; His Apology. — Man- Worship. — Doctors Major 
and Minor. — A Farewell Visit. 401 

CHAPTER XLII. 

Project of a Dictionary of Arts and Sciences. — Disappointment. — 
Negligent Authorship. — Application for a Pension. — Beattie's 
Essay on Truth, — Public Adulation. — A High-minded Rebuke. . 408 

CHAPTER XLIII. 

Toil without Hope. — The Poet in the Green-Room ; In the Flower- 
Garden ; At Vauxhall ; Dissipation without Gayety.— Cradock in 
Town ; Friendly Sympathy ; A Parting Scene ; An Invitation to 
Pleasure 415 

CHAPTER XLIV. 

A Return to Drudgery ; Forced Gayety ; Retreat to the Country ; The 
Poem of "Retaliation." — Portrait of Garrick; Of Goldsmith; 
Of Reynolds. — Illness of the Poet; His Death; Grief of his 
Friends. — A Last Word respecting the Jessamy Bride 423 

CHAPTER XLV. 

The Funeral. — The Monument. — The Epitaph. — Concluding Reflec- 
tions 435 



Olitee Goldsmith. 



CHAPTER I. 

BIRTH AND PARENTAGE. — CHARACTERISTICS OF THE GOLDSMITH RACE. 
— POETICAL BIRTHPLACE. — GOBLIN HOUSE. — SCENES OF BOYHOOD. — LIS- 
SOY.— PICTURE OF A COUNTRY PARSON.— GOLDSMITH'S SCHOOLMISTRESS. 
— BYRNE, THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER. — GOLDSMITH'S HORNPIPE AND 
EPIGRAM. — UNCLE CONTARINE. — SCHOOL STUDIES AND SCHOOL SPORTS. 
— MISTAKES OF A NIGHT. 




HERE are few writers for whom the reader feels 
such personal kindness as for Oliver Goldsmith, 
for few have so eminently possessed the magic 
gift of identifying themselves with their writings. We 
read his character in every page, and grow into familiar 
intimacy with him as we read. The artless benevolence 
that beams throughout his works ; the whimsical, yet 
amiable views of human life and human nature ; the un- 
forced humor, blending so happily with good feeling and 
good sense, and singularly dashed at times with a pleas- 
ing melancholy ; even the very nature of his mellow, and 
flowing, and softly-tinted style, — all seem to bespeak his 

21 



22 OLIVER GOLDSMITH, 

moral as well as liis intellectual qualities, and make us 
love the man at the same time that we admire the author. 
While the productions of writers of loftier pretension 
and more sounding names are suffered to moulder on out 
shelves, those of Goldsmith are cherished and laid in our 
bosoms. We do not quote them with ostentation, but 
they mingle with our minds, sweeten our tempers, and 
harmonize our thoughts ; they put us in good-humor 
with ourselves and with the world, and in so doing they 
make us happier and better men. 

An acquaintance with the private biography of Gold- 
smith lets us into the secret of his gifted pages. We 
there discover them to be little more than I transcripts of 
his own heart and picturings of his fortunes. There he 
shows himself the same kind, artless, good-humored, ex- 
cursive, sensible, whimsical, intelligent being that he ap- 
pears in his writings. Scarcely an adventure or charac- 
ter is given in his works that may not be traced to his 
own parti-colored story. Many of his most ludicrous 
scenes and ridiculous incidents have been drawn from 
his own blunders and mischances, and he seems really 
to have been buffeted into almost every maxim imparted 
by him for the instruction of his reader. 

Oliver Goldsmith was born on the 10th of November. 
1728, at the hamlet of Pallas, or Pallasmore, county of 
Longford, in Ireland. He sprang from a respectable, but 
by no means a thrifty stock. Some families seem to in- 
herit kindliness and incompetency, and to hand down 



POETICAL BIRTHPLACE. 23 

virtue and poverty from generation to generation. Such 
was the case with the Goldsmiths. " They were al- 
ways," according to their own accounts, " a strange fam- 
ily ; they rarely acted like other people ; their hearts were 
in the right place, but their heads seemed to be doing 
anything but what they ought." — " They were remark- 
able," says another statement, " for their worth, but of no 
cleverness in the ways of the world." Oliver Goldsmith 
will be found faithfully to inherit the virtues and weak- 
nesses of his race. 

His father, the Rev. Charles Goldsmith, with heredi- 
tary improvidence, married when very young and very 
poor, and starved along for several years on a small 
country curacy and the assistance of his wife's friends. 
His whole income, eked out by the produce of some 
fields which he farmed, and of some occasional duties 
performed for his wife's uncle, the rector of an adjoining 
parish, did not exceed forty pounds. 

"And passing rich with forty pounds a year." 

He inhabited an old, half rustic mansion, that stood on 
a rising ground in a rough, lonely part of the country, 
overlooking a low tract occasionally flooded by the river 
Inny. In this house Goldsmith was born, and it was a 
birthplace Worthy of a poet ; for, by all accounts, it was 
haunted ground. A tradition handed down amoug the 
neighboring peasantry states that, in after-years, the 
house, remaining for some time untenanted, went to de- 



24 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

cay, the roof fell in, and it became so lonely and forlorn 
as to be a resort for the " good people " or fairies, who in 
Ireland are supposed to delight in old, crazy, deserted 
mansions for their midnight revels. All attempts to re- 
pair it were in vain ; the fairies battled stoutly to main- 
tain possession. A huge misshapen hobgoblin used to 
bestride the house every evening with an immense pair 
of jackboots, which, in his efforts at hard riding, he 
would thrust through the roof, kicking to pieces all the 
work of the preceding day. The house was therefore 
left to its fate, and went to ruin. 

Such is the popular tradition about Goldsmith's birth- 
place. About two years after his birth a change came 
over the circumstances of his father. By the death of 
his wife's uncle he succeeded to the rectory of Kilkenny 
West ; and, abandoning the old goblin mansion, he re- 
moved to Lissoy, in the county of Westmeath, where he 
occupied a farm of seventy acres, situated on the skirts 
of that pretty little village. 

This was the scene of Goldsmith's boyhood, the little 
world whence . he drew many of those pictures, rural 
and domestic, whimsical and touching, which abound 
throughout his works, and which appeal so eloquently 
both to the fancy and the heart. Lissoy is confidently 
cited as the original of his " Auburn " in the " Deserted 
Village " ; his father's establishment, a mixture of farm 
and parsonage, furnished hints, it is said, for the rural 
economy of the " Vicar of Wakefield " ; and his father 






HIS FA THEE. 25 

himself, with his learned simplicity, his guileless wis- 
dom, his amiable piety, and utter ignorance of the world, 
has been exquisitely portrayed in the worthy Dr. Prim- 
rose. Let us pause for a moment, and draw from Gold- 
smith's writings one or two of those pictures which, 
under feigned names, represent his father and his family, 
and the happy fireside of his childish days. 

"My father," says the "Man in Black," who, in some 
respects, is a counterpart of Goldsmith himself, — "my 
father, the younger son of a good family, was possessed 
of a small living in the church. His education was 
above his fortune, and his generosity greater than his 
education. Poor as he was, he had his flatterers poorer 
than himself: for every dinner he gave them, they re- 
turned him an equivalent in praise ; and this was all he 
wanted. The same ambition that actuates a monarch at 
the head of his army, influenced my father at the head 
of his table ; he told the story of the ivy-tree, and that 
was laughed at ; he repeated the jest of the two scholars 
and one pair of breeches, and the company laughed at 
that ; but the story of Taffy in the sedan-chair was sure 
to set the table in a roar. Thus his pleasure increased 
in proportion to the pleasure he gave ; he loved all the 
world, and he fancied all the world loved him. 

" As his fortune was but small, he lived up to the very 
extent of it : he had no intention of leaving his children 
money, for that was dross ; he resolved they should have 
learning, for learning, he used to obserye, was better 



26 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

than silver or gold. For this purpose he undertook to 
instruct us himself, and took as much care to form our 
morals as to improve our understanding. We were told 
that universal benevolence was what first cemented 
society : we were taught to consider all the wants of 
mankind as our own ; to regard the human face divine 
with affection and esteem ; he wound us up to be mere 
machines of pity, and rendered us incapable of with- 
standing the slightest impulse made either by real or 
fictitious distress. In a word, we were perfectly in- 
structed in the art of giving away thousands before we 
were taught the necessary qualifications of getting a far- 
thing." 

In the " Deserted Village " we have another picture of 
his father and his father's fireside : — 

" His house was known to all the vagrant train, 
He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain ; 
The long-remembered beggar was his guest, 
Whose beard, descending, swept his aged breast ; 
The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, 
Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd ; 
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, 
Sat by his fire, and talked the night away ; 
Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done, 
Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were won. 
Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, 
And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; 
Careless their merits or their faults to scan, 
His pity gave ere charity be^an," 



HIS EARLY EDUCATION. 27 

The family of the worthy pastor consisted of five sons 
and three daughters. Henry, the eldest, was the good 
man's pride and hope, and he tasked his slender means 
to the utmost in educating him for a learned and distin- 
guished career. Oliver was the second son, and seveu 
years younger than Henry, who was the guide and pro- 
tector of his childhood, and to whom he was most ten- 
derly attached throughout life. 

Oliver's education began when he was about three 
years old; that is to say, he was gathered under the 
wings of one of those good old motherly dames, found in 
every village, who cluck together the whole callow brood 
of the neighborhood, to teach them their letters and keep 
them out of harm's way. Mistress Elizabeth Delap, for 
that was her name, flourished in this capacity for upward 
of fifty years, and it was the pride and boast of her de- 
clining days, when nearly ninety years of age, that she 
was the first that had put a book (doubtless a hornbook) 
into Goldsmith's hands. Apparently he did not much 
profit by it, for she confessed he was one of the dullest 
boys she had ever dealt with, insomuch that she had 
sometimes doubted whether it was possible to make any- 
thing of him : a common case with imaginative children, 
who are apt to be beguiled from the dry abstractions of 
elementary study by the picturings of the fancy. 

At six years of age he passed into the hands of the 
village schoolmaster, one Thomas (or, as he was com- 
monly and irreverently named, Paddy) Byrne, a capital 



28 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

tutor for a poet. He had been educated for a peda- 
gogue, but had enlisted in the army, served abroad during 
the wars of Queen Anne's time, and risen to the rank of 
quartermaster of a regiment in Spain. At the return of 
peace, having no longer exercise for the sword, he re- 
sumed the ferule, and drilled the urchin populace of 
Lissoy. Goldsmith is supposed to have had him and 
his school in view in the following sketch in his " De< 
serted Village " : — 

1 * Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, 
With blossom'd furze un profitably gay, 
There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule, 
The village master taught his little school; 
A man severe he was, and stern to view, 
I knew him well, and every truant knew : 
Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace 
The day's disasters in his morning face ; 
Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee 
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; 
Full well the busy whisper circling round, 
Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd : 
Yet he was kind, or. if severe in aught, 
The love he bore to learning was in fault ; 
The village all declared how much he knew, 
'T was certain he could write, and cipher too ; 
Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, 
And e'en the story ran that he could gauge : 
In arguing, too. the parson own'd his skill. 
For, e'en though vanquished, he could argue still ; 
While words of learned length and thund'ring sound 
Amazed the gazing rustics, ranged around, — 



BYRNE, THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER. 29 

And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, 
That one small head could carry all he knew." 

There are certain whimsical traits in the character of 
Byrne, not given in the foregoing sketch. He was fond 
of talking of his vagabond wanderings in foreign lands, 
and had brought with him from the wars a world of cam 
paigning stories, of which he was generally the hero, 
and which he would deal forth to his wondering scholars 
when be ought to have been teaching them their les- 
sons. These travellers' tales had a powerful effect upon 
the vivid imagination of Goldsmith, and awakened an 
unconquerable passion for wandering and seeking ad- 
venture. 

Byrne was, moreover, of a romantic vein, and exceed- 
ingly superstitious. He was deeply versed in the fairy 
superstitions which abound in Ireland, all which he pro- 
fessed implicitly to believe. Under his tuition Gold- 
smith soon became almost as great a proficient in fairy 
lore. From this branch of good-for-nothing knowledge 
his studies, by an easy transition, extended to the his- 
tories of robbers, pirates, smugglers, and the whole race 
of Irish rogues and rapparees. Everything, in short, 
that savored of romance, fable, and adventure, was con- 
genial to his poetic mind, and took instant root there; 
but the slow plants of useful knowledge were apt to be 
overrun, if not choked, by the weeds of his quick imagi- 
nation. 

Another trait of his motley preceptor, Byrne, was a 



30 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

disposition to dabble in poetry, and this likewise was 
caught by his pupil. Before he was eight years old, 
Goldsmith had contracted a habit of scribbling verses 
on small scraps of paper, which, in a little while, he 
would throw into the fire. A few of these sibylline 
leaves, however, were rescued from the flames and con- 
veyed to his mother. The good woman read them with 
a mother's delight, and saw at once that her son was a 
genius and a poet. From that time she beset her hus- 
band with solicitations to give the boy an education 
suitable to his talents. The worthy man was already 
straitened by the costs of instruction of his eldest son 
Henry, and had intended to bring his second son up 
to a trade ; but the mother would listen to no such 
thing ; as usual, her influence prevailed, and Oliver, in- 
stead of being instructed in some humble, but cheerful 
and gainful handicraft, was devoted to poverty and the 
Muse. 

A severe attack of the small-pox caused him to be 
taken from under the care of his story-telling preceptor, 
Byrne. His malady had nearly proved fatal, and his face 
remained pitted through life. On his recovery he was 
placed under the charge of the Bev. Mr. Griffin, school- 
master of Elphin, in Boscommon, and became an inmate 
in the house of his uncle, John Goldsmith, Esq., of Bally- 
oughter, in that vicinity. He now entered upon studies 
of a higher order, but without making any uncommon 
progress. Still a careless, easy facility of disposition. 



GOLDSMITH'S HORNPIPE AND EPIGRAM. 31 

an amusing eccentricity of manners, and a vein of quiet 
and peculiar humor, rendered him a general favorite, and 
a trifling incident soon induced his uncle's family to con- 
cur in his mother's opinion of his genius. 

A number of young folks had assembled at his uncle's 
to dance. One of the company, named Cummings, played 
on the violin. In the course of the evening Oliver un- 
dertook a hornpipe. His short and clumsy figure, and 
his face pitted and discolored with the small-pox, ren- 
dered him a ludicrous figure in the eyes of the musician, 
who made merry at his expense, dubbing him his little 
iEsop. Goldsmith was nettled by the jest, and, stopping 
short in the hornpipe, exclaimed, — 

" Our herald hath proclaimed this saying, 
See JEsop dancing, and his monkey playing." 

The repartee was thought wonderful for a boy of nine 
years old, and Oliver became forthwith the wit and the 
bright genius of the family. It was thought a pity he 
should not receive the same advantages with his elder 
brother Henry, who had been sent to the University ; and., 
as his father's circumstances would not afford it, several 
of his relatives, spurred on by the representations of his 
mother, agreed to contribute towards the expense. The 
greater part, however, was borne by his uncle, the Rev. 
Thomas Contarine. This worthy man had been the col- 
lege companion of Bishop Berkeley, and was possessed of 
moderate means, holding the living of Carrick-on-Shan- 



32 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

non. He had married the sister of Goldsmith's father 
but was now a widower, with an only child, a daughter, 
named Jane. Contarine was a kind-hearted man, with a 
generosity beyond his means. He took Goldsmith into 
favor from his infancy ; his house was open to him dur- 
ing the holidays ; his daughter Jane, two years older 
than the poet, was his early playmate ; and uncle Conta-^ 
rine continued to the last one of his most active, un- 
wavering, and generous friends. 

Fitted out in a great measure by this considerate rela- 
tive, Oliver was now transferred to schools of a higher 
order, to prepare him for the University ; first to one at 
Athlone, kept by the Rev. Mr. Campbell, and, at the end 
of two years, to one at Edgeworthstown, under the super- 
intendence of the Rev. Patrick Hughes. 

Even at these schools his proficiency does not appear 
to have been brilliant. He was indolent and careless, 
however, rather than dull, and, on the whole, appears to 
have been well thought of by his teachers. In his stud- 
ies he inclined towards the Latin poets and historians ; 
relished Ovid and Horace, and delighted in Livy. He 
exercised himself with pleasure in reading and translat- 
ing Tacitus, and was brought to pay attention to style 
in his compositions by a reproof from his brother Henry, 
to whom he had written brief and confused letters, and 
who told him in reply, that, if he had but little to say, 
to endeavor to say that little well. 

The career of his brother Henry at the University was 



SCHOOL STUDIES AND SPORTS. 33 

enough to stimulate him to exertion. He seemed to be 
realizing all his father's hopes, and was winning collegi- 
ate honors that the good man considered indicative of 
his future success in life. 

In the meanwhile, Oliver, if not distinguished among 
his teachers, was popular among his schoolmates. He 
had a thoughtless generosity extremely captivating to 
young hearts : his temper was quick and sensitive, and 
easily offended; but his anger was momentary, and it 
was impossible for him to harbor resentment. He was 
the leader of all boyish sports, and athletic amusements, 
especially ball-playing, and he was foremost in all mis- 
chievous pranks. Many years afterward, an old man, 
Jack Fitzsimmons, one of the directors of the sports, and 
keeper of the ball-court at Bally mah on, used to boast of 
having been schoolmate of "Noll Goldsmith," as he 
called him, and would dwell with vainglory on one of 
their exploits, in robbing the orchard of Tirlicken, an old 
family residence of Lord Annaly. The exploit, however, 
had nearly involved disastrous consequences ; for the 
crew of juvenile depredators were captured, like Shak- 
speare and his deer-stealing colleagues ; and nothing but 
the respectability of Goldsmith's connections saved- him 
from the punishment that would have awaited more ple- 
beian delinquents. 

An amusing incident is related as occurring in Gold- 
smith's last journey homeward from Edgeworthstown. 
His father's house was about twenty miles distant ; the 



34 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

road lay through a rough country, impassable for car- 
riages. Goldsmith procured a horse for the journey, and 
a friend furnished him with a guinea for travelling ex- 
penses. He was but a stripling of sixteen, and being 
thus suddenly mounted on horseback, with money in his 
pocket, it is no wonder that his head was turned. He 
determined to play the man, and to spend his money in 
independent traveller's style. Accordingly, instead of 
pushing directly for home, he halted for the night at the 
little town of Ardagh, and, accosting the first person he 
met, inquired, with somewhat of a consequential air, for 
the best house in the place. Unluckily, the person he 
had accosted was one Kelly, a notorious wag, who was 
quartered in the family of one Mr. Featherstone, a gen- 
tleman of fortune. Amused with the self-consequence of 
the stripling, and willing to play off a practical joke at his 
expense, he directed him to what was literally "the best 
house in the place," namely, the family mansion of Mr. 
Featherstone. Goldsmith accordingly rode up to what 
he supposed to be an inn, ordered his horse to be taken 
to the stable, walked into the parlor, seated himself by 
the fire, and demanded what he could have for supper. 
On ordinary occasions he was diffident and even awkward 
in his manners, but here he was " at ease in his inn," and 
felt called upon to show his manhood and enact the ex- 
perienced traveller. His person was by no means calcu- 
lated to play off his pretensions, for he was short and 
thick, with a pock-marked face, and an air and carriage 



MISTAKES OF A NIGHT. 35 

by no means of a distinguished cast. The owner of the 
house, however, soon discovered his whimsical mistake, 
and, being a man of humor, determined to indulge it, es- 
pecially as he accidentally learned that this intruding 
guest was the son of an old acquaintance. 

Accordingly, Goldsmith was " fooled to the top of his 
bent," and permitted to have full sway throughout the 
evening. Xever was schoolboy more elated. When sup- 
per was served, he most condescendingly insisted that 
the landlord, his wife and daughter should partake, and 
ordered a bottle of wine to crown the repast and benefit 
the house. His last flourish was on going to bed, when 
he gave especial orders to have a hot cake at breakfast. 
His confusion and dismay, on discovering the next morn- 
ing that he had been swaggering in this free and easy 
way in the house of a private gentleman, may be readily 
conceived. True to his habit of turning the events of his 
life to literary account, we find this chapter of ludicrous 
blunders and cross-purposes dramatized many years af- 
terward in his admirable comedy of " She Stoops to Con- 
quer, or the Mistakes of a Night." 




CHAPTEK II. 

IMPROVIDENT MARRIAGES IN THE GOLDSMITH FAMILY. — GOLDSMITH AT THE 
UNIVERSITY. — SITUATION OF A SIZER. — TYRANNY OF WILDER, THE TUTOR. 
—PECUNIARY STRAITS. — STREET-BALLADS. -- - COLLEGE RIOT. — GALLOWS 
WALSH. — COLLEGE PRIZE. — A DANCE INTERRUPTED. 

jHILE Oliver was making his way somewhat 
negligently through the schools, his elder 
brother Henry was rejoicing his father's heart 
by his career at the University. He soon distinguished 
himself at the examinations, and obtained a scholarship 
in 1743. This is a collegiate distinction which serves as 
a stepping-stone in any of the learned professions, and 
which leads to advancement in the University should 
the individual choose to remain there. His father now 
trusted that he would push forward for that comfortable 
provision, a fellowship, and thence to higher dignities and 
emoluments. Henry, however, had the improvidence, or 
the " unworldliness " of his race : returning to the coun- 
try during the succeeding vacation, he married for love, 
relinquished, of course, all his collegiate prospects and 
advantages, set up a school in his father's neighbor- 
hood, and buried his talents and acquirements for the 
remainder of his life in a curacy of forty pounds a year. 



IMPROVIDENT MARRIAGES. 37 

Another matrimonial event occurred not long after- 
ward in the Goldsmith family, to disturb the equanimity 
of its worthy heacl. This was the clandestine marriage 
of his daughter Catherine with a young gentleman of the 
name of Hodson, who had been confided to the care of 
her brother Henry to complete his studies. As the 
youth was of wealthy parentage, it was thought a lucky 
match for the Goldsmith family; but the tidings of the 
event stung the bride's father to the soul. Proud of his 
integrity, and jealous of that good name which was his 
chief possession, he saw himself and his family subjected 
to the degrading suspicion of having abused a trust re- 
posed in them to promote a mercenary match. In the 
first transports of his feelings, he is said to have uttered 
a wish that his daughter might never have a child to 
bring like shame and sorrow on her head. The hasty 
wish, so contrary to the usual benignity of the man, was 
recalled and repented of almost as soon as uttered ; but 
it was considered baleful in its effects by the supersti- 
tious neighborhood ; for, though his daughter bore three 
children, they all died before her. 

A more effectual measure was taken by Mr. Goldsmith 
to ward off the apprehended imputation, but one which 
imposed a heavy burden on his family. This was to fur- 
nish a marriage portion of four hundred pounds, that his 
daughter might not be said to have entered her hus 
band's family empty-handed. To raise the sum in cash 
was impossible ; but he assigned to Mr. Hodson his little 



38 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

farm and the income of his tithes until the marriage por- 
tion should be j)aid. In the meantime, as his living did 
not amount to £200 per annum, he had to practise the 
strictest economy to pay off gradually this heavy tax 
incurred by his nice sense of honor. 

The first of his family to feel the effects of this econ- 
omy was Oliver. The time had now arrived for him to 
be sent to the University ; and, accordingly, on the 11th 
June, 1745, when seventeen years of age, he entered 
Trinity College, Dublin; but his father was no longer 
able to place him there as a pensioner, as he had done 
his eldest son Henry ; he was obliged, therefore, to enter 
him as a sizer, or " poor scholar." He was lodged in one 
of the top rooms adjoining the library of the building, 
numbered 35, where it is said his name may still be seen, 
scratched by himself upon a window-frame. 

A student of this class is taught and boarded gratui- 
tously, and has to pay but a small sum for his room. It 
is expected, in return for these advantages, that he will 
be a diligent student, and render himself useful in a va- 
riety of ways. In Trinity College, at the time of Gold- 
smith's admission, several derogatory, and, indeed, me- 
nial offices were exacted from the sizer, as if the college 
sought to indemnify itself for conferring benefits by in- 
flicting indignities. He was obliged to sweep part of the 
courts in the morning; to carry up the dishes from the 
kitchen to the fellows' table, and to wait in the hall until 
that body had dined. His very dress marked the inferi- 



SITUATION OF A SIZER. 39 

ority of tlie "poor student" to his happier classmates. 
It was a black gown of coarse stuff without sleeves, and 
a plain black cloth cap without a tassel. We can con- 
ceive nothing more odious and ill-judged than these dis- 
tinctions, which attached, the idea of degradation to pov- 
erty, and placed the indigent youth of merit below the 
worthless minion of fortune. They were calculated to 
wound and irritate the noble mind, and to render the 
base mind baser. 

Indeed, the galling effect of these servile tasks upon 
youths of proud spirits and quick sensibilities became 
at length too notorious to be disregarded. About fifty 
years since, on a Trinity Sunday, a number of persons 
were assembled to witness the college ceremonies; and 
as a sizer was carrying up a dish of meat to the fellows' 
table, a burly citizen in the crowd made some sneering 
observation on the servility of his office. Stung to the 
quick, the high-spirited youth instantly flung the dish 
and its contents at the head of the sneerer. The sizer 
was sharply reprimanded for this outbreak of wounded 
pride, but the degrading task was from that (Jay forward 
very properly consigned to menial hands. 

It was with the utmost repugnance that Goldsmith en- 
tered college in this capacity. His shy and sensitive 
nature was affected by the inferior station he was doomed 
to hold among his gay and opulent fellow-students, and 
he became, at times, moody and despondent. A recol- 
lection of these early mortifications induced him, in after- 



40 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

years, most strongly to dissuade his brother Henry, the 
clergyman, from sending a son to college on a like foot- 
ing. " If he has ambition, strong passions, and an ex- 
quisite sensibility of contenrpt, do not send him there, 
unless you have no other trade for him except your 
own." 

To add to his annoyances, the fellow of the college 
who had the peculiar control of his studies, the Rev. 
Theaker Wilder, was a man of violent and capricious 
temper, and of diametrically opposite tastes. The tutor 
was devoted to the exact sciences ; Goldsmith was for the 
classics. Wilder endeavored to force his favorite studies 
upon the student by harsh means, suggested by his own 
coarse and savage nature. He abused him in presence of 
the class as ignorant and stupid ; ridiculed him as awk- 
ward and ugly, and at times in the transports of his tem- 
per indulged in personal violence. The effect was to 
aggravate a passive distaste into a positive aversion. 
Goldsmith was loud in expressing his contempt for 
mathematics and his dislike of ethics and logic ; and the 
prejudices thus imbibed continued through life. Mathe- 
matics he always pronounced a science to which the 
meanest intellects were competent. 

A truer cause of this distaste for the severer studies 
may probably be found in his natural indolence and his 
love of convivial pleasures. "I was a lover of mirth, 
good-humor, and even sometimes of fun," said he, "from 
my childhood." He sang a good song, was a boon com- 



PECUNIARY STRAITS. 41 

pardon, and could not resist any temptation to social 
enjoyment. He endeavored to persuade himself that 
learning and dulness went hand in hand, and that genius 
was not to be put in harness. Even in riper years, when 
the consciousness of his own deficiencies ought to have 
convinced him of the importance of eaily study, he speaks 
slightingly of college honors. 

"A lad," says he, "whose passions are not strong 
enough in youth to mislead him from that path of 
science which his tutors, and not his inclination, have 
chalked out, by four or five years' perseverance will prob- 
ably obtain every advantage and honor his college can 
bestow. I would compare the man whose youth has 
been thus passed in the tranquillity of dispassionate pru- 
dence, to liquors that never ferment, and, consequently, 
continue always muddy." 

The death of his worthy father, which took place early 
in 1747, rendered Goldsmith's situation at college ex- 
tremely irksome. His mother was left with little more 
than the means of providing for the wants of her house- 
hold, and was unable to furnish him any remittances. He 
would have been compelled, therefore, to leave college, 
had it not been for the occasional contributions of 
friends, the foremost among whom was his generous and 
warm-hearted uncle Contarine. Still these supplies were 
so scanty and precarious, that in the intervals between 
them he was put to great straits. He had two college 
associates from whom he would occasionally borrow 



42 OLIVER GOLDSMITB. 

small sums ; one was an early schoolmate, by the name 
of Beatty ; the other a cousin, and the chosen compan- 
ion of his frolics, Kobert (or rather Bob) Bryanton, of 
Ballymulvey House, near Bally mahon. When these cas- 
ual supplies failed him, he was more than once obliged 
to raise funds for his immediate wants by pawning his 
books. At times he sank into despondency, but he had 
what he termed " a knack at hoping," which soon buoyed 
him up again. He began now to resort to his poetical 
vein as a source of profit, scribbling street-ballads, which 
he privately sold for five shillings each at a shop which 
dealt in such small wares of literature. He felt an au- 
thor's affection for these unowned bantlings, and we are 
told would stroll privately through the streets at night to 
hear them sung, listening to the comments and criticisms 
of by-standers, and observing the degree of applause 
which each received. 

Edmund Burke was a fellow-student with Goldsmith 
at the college. Neither the statesman nor the poet gave 
promise of their future celebrity, though Burke certainly 
surpassed his contemporary in industry and application, 
and evinced more disposition for self-improvement, as- 
sociating himself with a number of his fellow-students in 
a debating club, in which they discussed literary topics, 
and exercised themselves in composition. 

Goldsmith may likewise have belonged to this associa- 
tion, but his propensity was rather to mingle with the 
gay and thoughtless. On one occasion we find him im- 



COLLEGE MOV. 43 

plicated in an affair that came nigh producing his expul- 
sion. A leport was brought to college that a scholar 
was in the hands of the bailiffs. This was an insult in 
which every gownsman felt himself involved. A number 
of the scholars flew to arms, and sallied forth to battle, 
headed by a hair-brained fellow nicknamed Gallows 
"Walsh, noted for his aptness at mischief and fondness for 
riot. The stronghold of the bailiff was carried bj storm, 
the scholar set at liberty, and the delinquent catch-pole 
borne off captive to the college, where, having no pump 
to put him under, they satisfied the demands of collegi- 
ate law by ducking him in an old cistern. 

Flushed with this signal victory, Gallows Walsh now 
harangued his followers, and proposed to break open 
Newgate, or the Black Dog, as the prison was called, 
and effect a general jail-delivery. He was answered by 
shouts of concurrence, and away went the throng of mad- 
cap youngsters, fully bent upon putting an end to the 
tyranny of law. They were joined by the mob of the 
city, and made an attack upon the prison with true Irish 
precipitation and thoughtlessness, never having provided 
themselves with cannon to batter its stone walls. A few 
shots from the prison brought them to their senses, and 
they beat a hasty retreat, two of the townsmen being 
killed, and several wounded. 

A severe scrutiny of this affair took place at the Uni- 
versity. Four students, who had been ringleaders, were 
expelled ; four others, who had been prominent in the 



44 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

affray, were publicly admonished ; among the latter was 
the unlucky Goldsmith. 

To make up for this disgrace, he gained, within a 
month afterward, one of the minor prizes of the college. 
It is true it was one of the very smallest, amounting in 
pecuniary value to but thirty shillings, but it was the 
first distinction he had gained in his whole collegiate 
career. This turn of success and sudden influx of wealth 
proved too much for the head of our poor student. He 
forthwith gave a supper and dance at his chamber to a 
number of young persons of both sexes from the city, in 
direct violation of college rules. The unwonted sound of 
the fiddle reached the ears of the implacable Wilder. 
He rushed to the scene of unhallowed festivity, inflicted 
corporal punishment on the "father of the feast," and 
turned his astonished guests neck and heels out-of-doors. 

This filled the measure of poor Goldsmith's humilia- 
tions ; he felt degraded both within college and without. 
He dreaded the ridicule of his fellow-students for the 
ludicrous termination of his orgie, and he was ashamed 
to meet his city acquaintances after the degrading chas- 
tisement received in their presence, and after their own 
ignominious expulsion. Above all, he felt it impossible 
to submit any longer to the insulting tyranny of Wilder : 
he determined, therefore, to leave, not merely the college, 
but also his native land, and to bury what he conceived 
to be his irretrievable disgrace in some distant country. 
He accordingly sold his books and clothes, and sallied 



SETTING OUT ON A JOURNEY. 45 

forth from the college walls the very next day, intending 
to embark at Cork for — he scarce knew where — America, 
or any other part beyond sea. With his usual heedless 
imprudence, however, he loitered about Doblin until his 
finances were reduced to a shilling ; with this amount of 
specie he set out on his journey. 

For three whole days he subsisted on his shilling; 
when that was spent, he parted w T ith some of the 
clothes from his back, until, reduced almost to naked- 
ness, he was four-and-twenty hours without food, inso- 
much that he declared a handful of gray peas, given to 
him by a girl at a wake, was one of the most delicious 
repasts he had ever tasted. Hunger, fatigue, and desti- 
tution brought down his spirit and calmed his anger. 
Fain would he have retraced his steps, could he have 
done so with any salvo for the lingerings of his pride. 
In his extremity he conveyed to his brother Henry in- 
formation of his distress, and of the rash project on 
which he had set out. His affectionate brother hastened 
to his relief ; furnished him with money and clothes ; 
soothed his feelings with gentle counsel ; prevailed upon 
him to return to college, and effected an indifferent rec- 
onciliation between him and Wilder. 

After this irregular sally upon life he remained nearly 
two years longer at the University, giving proofs of talent 
in occasional translations from the classics, for one of 
which he received a premium, awarded only to those who 
are the first in literary merit. Still he never made much 



46 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

figure at college, his natural disinclination to study being 
increased by the harsh treatment he continued to experi- 
ence from his tutor. 

Among the anecdotes told of him while at college, is 
one indicative of that prompt but thoughtless and often 
whimsical benevolence which throughout life formed one 
of the most eccentric, yet endearing points of his charac-. 
ter. He was engaged to breakfast one day with a college 
intimate, but failed to make his appearance. His friend 
repaired to his room, knocked at the door and was bid- 
den to enter. To his surprise, he found Goldsmith in 
his bed, immersed to his chin in feathers. A serio-comic 
story explained the circumstance. In the course of the 
preceding evening's stroll he had met with a woman with 
fiYe children, who implored his charity. Her husband 
was in the hospital ; she was just from the country, a 
stranger, and destitute, without food or shelter for her 
helpless offspring. This was too much for the kind heart 
of Goldsmith. He was almost as poor as herself, it is 
true, and had no money in his pocket ; but he brought 
her to the college-gate, gave her the blankets from his 
bed to cover her little brood, and part of his clothes for 
her to sell and purchase food ; and, finding himself cold 
during the night, had cut open his bed and buried him- 
self among the feathers. 

At length, on the 27th of February, 1749, O. 8., he was 
admitted to the degree of Bachelor of Arts, and took his 
final leave of the University. He was freed from college 



RETURN TO FRIENDS. 47 

ruie, that emancipation so ardently coveted by the 
thoughtless student, and which too generally launches 
him amid the cares, the hardships, and vicissitudes of 
life. He was freed, too, from the brutal tyranny of 
Wilder. If his kind and placable nature could retain 
any resentment for past injuries, it might have been 
gratified by learning subsequently that the passionate 
career of Wilder was terminated by a violent death in 
the course of a dissolute brawl ; but Goldsmith took no 
delight in the misfortunes even of his enemies. 

He now returned to his friends, no longer the student 
to sport away the happy interval of vacation, but the 
anxious man, who is henceforth to shift for himself and 
make his way through the world. In fact, he had no 
legitimate home to return to. At the death of his father, 
the paternal house at Lissoy, in which Goldsmith had 
passed his childhood, had been taken by Mr. Hoclson, 
who had married his sister Catherine. His mother had 
removed to Ballymahon, where she occupied a small 
house, and had to practise the severest frugality. His 
elder brother Henry served the curacy and taught the 
school of his late father's parish, and lived in narrow 
circumstances at Goldsmith's birthplace, the old goblin- 
house at Pallas. 

None of his relatives were in circumstances to aid him 
with anything more than a temporary home, and the 
aspect of every one seemed somewhat changed. In fact, 
his career at college had disappointed his friends, and 



^8 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

they began to doubt his being the great genius they had 
fancied him. He whimsically alludes to this circum- 
stance in that piece of autobiography, "The Man in 
Black," in the " Citizen of the World." 

" The first opportunity my father had of finding his 
expectations disappointed was in the middling figure I 
made at the University : he had flattered himself that he 
should soon see me rising into the foremost rank in liter- 
ary reputation, but was mortified to find me utterly un- 
noticed and unknown. His disappointment might have 
been partly ascribed to his having overrated my talents, 
and partly to my dislike of mathematical reasonings at a 
time when my imagination and memory, yet unsatisfied, 
were more eager after new objects than desirous of 
reasoning upon those I knew. This, however, did not 
please my tutors, who observed, indeed, that I was a 
little dull, but at the same time allowed that I seemed to 
be very good-natured, and had no harm in me." * 

The only one of his relatives who did not appear to 
lose faith in him was his uncle Contarine. This kind and 
considerate man, it is said, saw in him a warmth of heart 
requiring some skill to direct, and a latent genius that 
wanted time to mature ; and these impressions none of 
his subsequent follies and irregularities wholly obliter- 
ated. His purse and affection, therefore, as well as his 
house, were now open to him, and he became his chief 

* Citizen of the World, letter xxvii, 



TEARS OF PROBATION. 49 

counsellor and director after his father's death. He urged 
him to prepare for holy orders ; and others of his rela- 
tives concurred in the advice. Goldsmith had a settled 
repugnance to a clerical life. This has been ascribed 
by some to conscientious scruples, not considering him- 
self of a temper and frame of mind for such a sacred 
office ; others attributed it to his roving propensities, and 
his desire to visit foreign countries ; he himself gives a 
whimsical objection in his biography of the "Man in 
Black " : — " To be obliged to wear a long wig when I 
liked a short one, or a black coat when I generally 
dressed in brown, I thought such a restraint upon my 
liberty that I absolutely rejected the proposal." 

In effect, however, his scruples were overruled, and he 
agreed to qualify himself for the office. He was now only 
twenty-one, and must pass two years of probation. They 
were two years of rather loitering, unsettled life. Some- 
times he was at Lissoy, participating with thoughtless 
enjoyment in the rural sports and occupations of his 
brother-in-law, Mr. Hodson ; sometimes he was with his 
brother Henry, at the old goblin mansion at Pallas, 
assisting him occasionally in his school. The early 
marriage and unambitious retirement of Henry, though 
so subversive of the fond plans of his father, had proved 
happy in their results. He was already surrounded by a 
blooming family ; he was contented with his lot, beloved 
by his parishioners, and lived in the daily practice of all 
fche amiable virtues,, and the immediate, enjoyment q£ 
4 



50 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

their reward. Of the tender affection inspired in the 
breast of Goldsmith by the constant kindness of this 
excellent brother, and of the longing recollection with 
which, in the lonely wanderings of after-years, he looked 
back upon this scene of domestic felicity, we have a 
touching instance in the well-known opening to his poem 
of " The Traveller " :— 

" Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow, 
Or by the lazy Scheld ou wandering Po ; 

Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, 
My heart imtravell'd fondly turns to thee; 
Still to my brother turns with ceaseless pain, 
And drags at each remove a lengthening chain. 

Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend, 
And round his dwelling guardian saints attend; 
Bless'd be that spot, where cheerful guests retire 
To pause from toil, and trim their evening fire; 
Bless'd that abode, where want and pain repair, 
And every stranger finds a ready chair: 
Bless'd be those feasts with simple plenty crown'd 
Where all the ruddy family around 
Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail, 
Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale; 
Or press the bashful stranger to his food, 
And learn the luxury of doing good." 

During this loitering life Goldsmith pursued no study, 
but rather amused himself with miscellaneous reading; 
such as biography, travels, poetry, novels, plays — every- 



ROBERT BRYANTON. 51 

thing, in she rt, that administered to the imagination. 
Sometimes he strolled along the banks of the river Inny ; 
where, in afte -years, when he had become famous, his 
favorite seats a ad haunts used to be pointed out. Often 
he joined in the rustic sports of the villagers, and be- 
came adroit at vhrowing the sledge, a favorite feat of 
activity and strength in Ireland. Recollections of these 
" healthful sports " we find in his " Deserted Village " : — 

" How often have J , bless'd the coming day, 
When toil remitting lent its turn to play, 
And all the villagtetrain, from labor free, 
Led up their sport-i beneath the spreading tree: 
And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground, 

And sleights of art and feats of strength went round." 
2 
A boon companion in aL his rural amusements was his 
cousin and college crony, Robert Bryanton, with whom 
he sojourned occasionally at Ballymulvey House in the 
neighborhood. They used to make excursions about the 
country on foot, sometimes fishing, sometimes hunting 
otter in the Inny. They got up a country club at the 
little inn of Ballymahon, of which Goldsmith soon be- 
came the oracle and prime wit ; astonishing his unlet- 
.^-red associates by his learning, and being considered 
capital at a song and a story. From the rustic convi- 
viality of the inn at Ballymahon, and the company which 
used to assemble there, it is surmised that he took some 
hints in after-life for his picturing of Tony Lumpkin and 
his associates : " Dick Muggins, the exciseman ; Jack 



52 OLIVER GOLDSMITII. 

Slang, the horse-doctor ; little Aminiclab, thpt grinds the 
music-box, and Tom Twist, that spins the pewter plat- 
ter." Nay, it is thought that Tony's drinking-song at the 
" Three Jolly Pigeons" was but a revival of one of the 
convivial catches at Ballymahon : — 

" Then come put the jorum about, 
And let us be merry and clever, 
Our hearts and our liquors are stou , 

Here's the Three Jolly Pigeons, .^rever. 
Let some cry of woodcock or h< r re, 

Your bustards, your ducks, .^nd your widgeons; 
But of all the gay birds in the «*ir, 
Here's a health to the Three Jolly Pigeons. 

Toroddle, toroddle, toroll." 

Notwithstanding all these accomplishments and this 
rural popularity, his friends began to shake their heads 
and shrug their shoulders when they spoke of him ; and 
his brother Henry noted with anything but satisfaction 
his frequent visits to the club at Ballymahon. He 
emerged, however, unscathed from this dangerous ordeal, 
more fortunate in this respect than his comrade Bryan- 
ton ; but he retained throughout life a fondness for 
clubs : often, too, in the course of his checkered career, 
he looked back to this period of rural sports and careless 
enjoyments as one of the few sunny spots of his cloudy 
life ; and though he ultimately rose to associate with 
birds of a finer feather, his heart would still yearn in 
secret after the " Three Jolly Pigeons." 



CHAPTEE III. 



&OLDSMITH REJECTED B"! THE BISHOP. — SECOND SALLY TO SEE THE WORLD. 
— TAKES PASSAGE FOR AMERICA. — SHIP SAILS WITHOUT HIM. — RETURN ON 
FIDDLE BACK. — A HOSPITABLE FRIEND.— THE COUNSELLOR. 




?HE time had now arrived for Goldsmith to ap- 
ply for orders, and he presented himself ac- 



cordingly before the bishop of Elphin for ordi- 
nation. We have stated his great objection to clerical 
life, the obligation to wear a black coat; and, whimsical 
as it may appear, dress seems in fact to have formed an 
obstacle to his entrance into the church. He had ever a 
passion for clothing his sturdy but awkward little person 
in gay colors ; and on this solemn occasion, when it was 
to be supposed his garb would be of suitable gravity, he 
appeared luminously arrayed in scarlet breeches! He 
was rejected by the bishop : some say for want of suf- 
ficient studious preparation ; his rambles and frolics with 
Bob Bryanton, and his revels with the club at Bally- 
mahon, having been much in the way of his theological 
studies ; others attribute his rejection to reports of his 
college irregularities, which the bishop had received 
from his old tyrant Wilder ; but those who look into the 

53 



54 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

matter with more knowing eyes, pronounce the scarlet 
breeches to Lave been the fundamental objection. "My 
friends," says Goldsmith, speaking through his humor- 
ous representative, the "Man in Black." — "my friends 
were now perfectly satisfied I was undone ; and yet they 
thought it a pity for one that had not the least harm in 
him, and was so very good-natured/' His uncle Con- 
tarine, however, still remained unwavering in his kind- 
ness, though much less sanguine in his expectations. 
He now looked round for a humbler sphere of action, 
and through his influence and exertions Oliver was re- 
ceived as tutor in the family of a Mr. Flinn, a gentleman 
of the neighborhood. The situation was apparently re- 
spectable ; he had his seat at the table ; and joined the 
family in their domestic recreations and their evening 
game at cards. There was a servility, however, in his 
position, which was not to his taste ; nor did his defer- 
ence for the family increase upon familiar intercourse. 
He charged a member of it with unfair play at cards. 
A violent altercation ensued, which ended in his throw- 
ing up his situation as tutor. On being paid off he found 
himself in possession of an unheard-of amount of money. 
His wandering propensity and his desire to see the world 
were instantly in the ascendency. Without communicat- 
ing his plans or intentions to his friends, he procured a 
good horse, and, with thirty pounds in his pocket, made 
his second sally forth into the world. 

The worthy niece and housekeeper of the hero of La 



SALLY TO SEE THE WOULD. 55 

Mancha could not have been more surprised and dis- 
mayed at one of the Don's clandestine expeditions than 
were the mother and friends of Goldsmith, when they 
heard of his mysterious departure. Weeks elapsed, and 
nothing was seen or heard of him. It was feared that 
he had left the country on one of his wandering freaks, 
and his poor mother was reduced almost to despair, 
when one day he arrived at her door almost as forlorn in 
plight as the prodigal son. Of his thirty pounds not a 
shilling was left ; and, instead of the goodly steed on 
which he had issued forth on his errantry, he was 
mounted on a sorry little pony, which he had nicknamed 
Fiddle-back. As soon as his mother was well assured 
of his safety, she rated him soundly for his inconsiderate 
conduct. His brothers and sisters, who were tenderly 
attached to him, interfered, and succeeded in mollifying 
her ire ; and whatever lurking anger the good dame 
might have, was no doubt effectually vanquished by the 
following whimsical narrative which he drew up at his 
brother's house, and dispatched to her : — 

" My dear mother, if you will sit down and calmly 
listen to what I say, you shall be fully resolved in every 
one of those many questions you have asked me. I went 
to Cork and converted my horse, which you prize so 
much higher than Fiddle-back, into cash, took my pas- 
sage in a ship bound for America, and, at the same time, 
paid the captain for my freight and all the other ex- 
penses of my voyage. But it so happened that the wind 



56 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

did not answer for three weeks ; and you know, mother, 
that I could not command the elements. My misfortune 
was, that, when the wind served, I happened to be with 
a party in the country, and my friend, the captain, never 
inquired after me, but set sail with as much indifference 
as if I had been on board. The remainder of my time 
I employed in the city and its environs, viewing every- 
thing curious, and you know no one can starve while he 
has money in his pocket. 

" Reduced, however, to my last two guineas, I began 
to think of my dear mother and friends whom I had left 
behind me, and so bought that generous beast, Fiddle- 
back, and bade adieu to Cork with only five shillings in 
my pocket. This, to be sure, was but a scanty allowance 
for man and horse towards a journey of above a hundred 
miles; but I did not despair, for I knew I must find 
friends on the road. 

" I recollected particularly an old and faithful acquain- 
tance I made at college, who had often and earnestly 
pressed me to spend a summer with him, and he lived 
but eight miles from Cork. This circumstance of vicin- 
ity he would expatiate on to me with peculiar emphasis. 
'We shall,' says he, 'enjoy the delights of both city and 
country, and you shall command my stable and my 
purse.' 

"However, upon the way I met a poor woman all in 
tears, who told me her husband had been arrested for a 
debt he was not able to pay, and that his eight children 



A HOSPITABLE FRIEND. 57 

must now starve, bereaved as they were of his industry, 
which had been their only support. I thought myself at 
home, being not far from my good friend's house, and 
therefore parted with a moiety of all my store ; and pray, 
mother, ought I not have given her the other half-crown, 
for what she got would be of little use to her ? However, 
I soon arrived at the mansion of my affectionate friend, 
guarded by the vigilance of a huge mastiff, who flew at me 
and would have torn me to pieces but for the assistance 
of a woman, whose countenance was not less grim than 
that of the dog ; yet she with great humanity relieved me 
from the jaws of this Cerberus, and was prevailed on to 
carry up my name to her master. 

"Without suffering me to wait long, my old friend, 
who was then recovering from a severe fit of sickness, 
came down in his nightcap, nightgown, and slippers, and 
embraced me with the most cordial welcome, showed me 
in, and, after giving me a history of his indisposition, as- 
sured me that he considered himself peculiarly fortunate 
in having under his roof the man he most loved on earth, 
and whose stay with him must, above all things, con- 
tribute to perfect his recovery. I now repented sorely 
I had not given the poor woman the other half-crown, as 
I thought all my bills of humanity would be punctually 
answered by this worthy man. I revealed to him my 
whole soul ; I opened to him all my distresses ; and 
freely owned that I had but one half-crown in my pocket; 
but that now, like a ship after weathering out the storm. 



58 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

I considered myself secure in a safe and hospitable har- 
bor. He made no answer, but walked about the room, 
rubbing his hands as one in deep study. This I im- 
puted to the sympathetic feelings of a tender heart, 
which increased my esteem for him, and, as that in- 
creased, I gave the most favorable interpretation to his 
silence. I construed it into delicacy of sentiment, as if 
he dreaded to wound my pride by expressing his com- 
miseration in words, leaving his generous conduct to 
speak for itself. 

" It now approached six o'clock in the evening ; and 
as I had eaten no breakfast, and as my spirits were 
raised, my appetite for dinner grew uncommonly keen. 
At length the old woman came into the room with 
two plates, one spoon, and a dirty cloth, which she laid 
upon the table. This appearance, without increasing 
my spirits, did not diminish my appetite. My protectress 
soon returned with a small bowl of sago, a small por- 
ringer of sour milk, a loaf of stale brown bread, and 
the heel of an old cheese all over crawling with mites. 
My friend apologized that his illness obliged him to 
live on slops, and that better fare was not in the house ; 
observing, at the same time, that a milk diet was cer- 
tainly the most healthful ; and at eight o'clock he 
again recommended a regular life, declaring that for 
his part he would lie doicn ivith the lamb and rise with 
the lark. My hunger was at this time so exceedingly 
sharp that I wished for another slice of the loaf, but 



THE COUNSELOR. 59 

was obliged to go to bed without even that refresh- 
ment. 

" This lenten entertainment I had received made me 
resolve to depart as soon as possible ; accordingly, next 
morning, when I spoke of going, he did not oppose my 
resolution ; he rather commended my design, adding 
some very sage counsel upon the occasion. ' To be sure,' 
said he, * the longer you stay away from your mother, 
the more you will grieve her and your other friends; 
and possibly they are already afflicted at hearing of this 
foolish expedition you have made.' Notwithstanding all 
this, and without any hope of softening such a sordid 
heart, I again renewed the tale of my distress, and asking 
' how he thought I could travel above a hundred miles 
upon one half-crown ? ' I begged to borrow a single 
guinea, which I assured him should be repaid with 
thanks. ' And you know, sir,' said I, ' it is no more than 
I have done for you.' To which he firmly answered, 
1 Why, look you, Mr. Goldsmith, that is neither here nor 
there. I have paid you all you ever lent me, and this 
sickness of mine has left me bare of cash. But I have 
bethought myself of a conveyance for you ; sell your 
horse, and I will furnish you a much better one to ride 
on.' I readily grasped at his proposal, and begged to 
see the nag ; on which he led me to his bed-chamber, 
and from under the bed he pulled out a stout oak stick. 
'Here he is,' said he; 'take this in your hand, and it 
will carry you to your mother's with more safety than 



00 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

such a horse as you ride.' I was in doubt, when I got it 
into my hand, whether I should not, in the first place, 
apply it to his jmte ; but a rap at the street-door made 
the wretch fly to it, and when I returned to the parlor he 
introduced me, as if nothing of the kind had happened, 
to the gentleman who entered, as Mr. Goldsmith, his 
most ingenious and worthy friend, of whom he had so 
often heard him speak with rapture. I could scarcely 
compose myself ; and must have betrayed indignation in 
my mien to the stranger, who was a counsellor-at-law in 
the neighborhood, a man of engaging aspect and polite 
address. 

" After spending an hour, he asked my friend and me 
to dine with him at his house. This I declined at first, 
as I wished to have no farther communication with my 
hospitable friend ; but at the solicitation of both I at last 
consented, determined as I was by two motives : one, that 

1 was prejudiced in favor of the looks and manner of the 
counsellor ; and the other, that I stood in need of a com- 
fortable dinner. And there, indeed, I found everything 
that I could wish, abundance without profusion, and ele- 
gance without affectation. In the evening, when my old 
friend, who had eaten very plentifully at his neighbor's 
table, but talked again of lying down with the lamb, 
made a motion to me for retiring, our generous host re- 
quested I should take a bed with him, upon which I 
plainly told my old friend that he might go home and 
take care of the horse he had given me, but that I should 



PLEASANT DAYS. 61 

never reenter his doors. He went away with a laugh, 
leaving me to add this to the other little things the coun- 
sellor already knew of his plausible neighbor. 

"And now, my dear mother, I found sufficient to re- 
concile me to all my follies ; for here I spent three whole 
days. The counsellor had two sweet girls to his daugh- 
ters, who played enchantingly on the harpsichord ; and 
yet it was but a melancholy pleasure I felt the first time 
I heard them ; for that being the first time also that 
either of them had touched the instrument since their 
mother's death, I saw the tears in silence trickle down 
their father's cheeks. I every day endeavored to go 
away, but every day was pressed and obliged to stay. 
On my going, the counsellor offered me his purse, with a 
horse and servant to convey me home ; but the latter I 
declined, and only took a guinea to bear my necessary 

expenses on the road. 

Oliver Goldsmith. 

''To Mrs. Anne Goldsmith, Ballymahon." 

Such is the story given by the poet-errant of this his 
second sally in quest of adventures. We cannot but think 
it was here and there touched up a little with the fanci- 
ful pen of the future essayist, with a view to amuse his 
mother and soften her vexation ; but even in these re- 
spects it is valuable as showing the early play of his hu- 
mor, and his happy knack of extracting sweets from that 
worldly experience which to others yields nothing but 
bitterness, 




CHAPTEE IV. 

SALLIES FORTH AS A LAW STUDENT. — STUMBLES AT THE OUTSET. — COUSIN 
JANE AND THE VALENTINE. — A FAMILY ORACLE. — SALLIES FORTH AS A 
STUDENT OF MEDICINE. — HOCUS-POCUS OF A BOARDING-HOUSE.— TRANSFOR- 
MATIONS OF A LEG OF MUTTON.— THE MOCK GHOST. — SKETCHES OF SCOT- 
LAND. — TRIALS OF TOADYISM. — A POET'S PURSE FOR A CONTINENTAL TOUR. 

NEW consultation was held among Goldsmith's 
friends as to his future course, and it was de- 
termined he should try the law. His uncle 
Contarine agreed to advance the necessary funds, and 
actually furnished him with fifty pounds, with which he 
set off for London, to enter on his studies at the Temple. 
Unfortunately, he fell in company at Dublin with a Kos- 
common acquaintance, one whose wits had been shar- 
pened about town, who beguiled him into a gambling- 
house, and soon left him as penniless as when he bestrode 
the redoubtable Fiddle-back. 

He was so ashamed of this fresh instance of gross heed- 
lessness and imprudence, that he remained some time in 
Dublin without communicating to his friends his desti- 
tute condition. They heard of it, however, and he was 
invited back to the country, and indulgently forgiven by 
his generous uncle, but less readily by his mother, who 



A VALENTINE. 63 

was mortified and disheartened at seeing all her early 
hopes of him so repeatedly blighted. His brother Henry, 
too, began to lose patience at these successive failures, 
resulting from thoughtless indiscretion ; and a quarrel 
took place, which for some time interrupted their usually 
affectionate intercourse. 

The only home where poor erring Goldsmith still re- 
ceived a welcome, was the parsonage of his affectionate 
forgiving uncle. Here he used to talk of literature with 
the good simple-hearted man, and delight him and his 
daughter with his verses. Jane, his early playmate, 
was now the woman grown ; their intercourse was of a 
more intellectual kind than formerly ; they discoursed of 
poetry and music ; she played on the harpsichord, and he 
accompanied her with his flute. The music may not 
have been very artistic, as he never performed but by 
ear; it had probably as much merit as the poetry, which, 
if we may judge by the following specimen, was as yet 
but juvenile : — 

TO A YOUNG LADY ON VALENTINE'S DAY. 

WITH THE DRAWING OF A HEART. 

With submission at your shrine, 
Comes a heart your Valentine; 
From the side where once it grew, 
See it panting flies to you. 
Take it, fair one, to your breast, 
Soothe the fluttering thing to rest; 



64 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

Let the gentle, spotless toy 
Be your sweetest, greatest joy ; 
Every night when wrapp'd in sleep, 
Next your heart the conquest keep; 
Or if dreams your fancy move, 
Here it whisper me and love ; 
Then in pity to the swain, 
Who must heartless else remain, 
Soft as gentle dewy show'rs, 
Slow descend on April flow'rs ; 
Soft as gentle riv'lets glide, 
Steal unnoticed to my ^de ; 
If the gem you have to spare, 
Take your own and place it there. 

If this Valentine was intended for the fair Jane, and 
expressive of a tender sentiment indulged by the strip- 
ling poet, it was unavailing ; as not long afterwards she 
was married to a Mr. Lawder. We trust, however, it was 
but a poetical passion of that transient kind which grows 
up in idleness and exhales itself in rhyme. While Oli- 
ver was thus piping and poetizing at the parsonage, his 
uncle Contarine received a visit from Dean Goldsmith of 
Cloyne, — a kind of magnate in the wide but improvident 
family connection, throughout which his word was law 
and almost gospel. This august dignitary was pleased to 
discover signs of talent in Oliver, and suggested that, as 
be had attempted divinity and law without success, he 
should now try physic. The advice came from too im- 
portant a source to be disregarded, and it was deter- 



A BOARDING-HOUSE. 65 

mined to send him to Edinburgh to commence his stud- 
ies. The Dean having given the advice, added to it, we 
trust, his blessing, but no money; that was furnished 
from the scantier purses of Goldsmith's brother, his sis- 
ter i Mrs. Hodson), and his ever-ready uncle, Contarine. 

It was in the autumn of 1752 that Goldsmith arrived 
in Edinburgh. His outset in that city came near adding 
to the list of his indiscretions and disasters. Having 
taken lodgings at haphazard, he left his trunk there, con- 
taining all his worldly effects, and sallied forth to see the 
town. After sauntering about the streets until a late 
hour, he thought of returning home, when, to his confu- 
sion, he found he had not acquainted himself with the 
name either of his landlady or of the street in which she 
lived. Fortunately, in the height of his whimsical per- 
plexity, he met the cawdy or porter who had carried his 
trunk, and who now served him as a guide. 

He did not remain long in the lodgings in which he 
had put up. The hostess was too adroit at that hocus- 
pocus of the table which often is practised in cheap 
boarding-houses. No one could conjure a single joint 
through a greater variety of forms. A loin of mutton, 
according to Goldsmith's account, would serve him and 
two fellow-students a whole week. "A brandered chop 
was served up one day, a fried steak another, collops with 
onion-sauce a third, and so on until the fleshy parts were 
quite consumed, when finally a dish of broth was manu- 
factured from the bones on the seventh day, and the 
5 



QQ OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

landlady rested from her labors." Goldsmith had a 
good-humored mode of taking things, and for a short 
time amused himself with the shifts and expedients of 
his landlady, which struck him in a ludicrous manner ; 
he soon, however, fell in with fellow-students from his 
own country, whom he joined at more eligible quarters. 

He now attended medical lectures, and attached him- 
self to an association of students called the Medical So- 
ciety. He set out, as usual, with the best intentions, but, 
as usual, soon fell into idle, convivial, thoughtless habits. 
Edinburgh was indeed a place of sore trial for one of his 
temperament. Convivial meetings were all the vogue, 
and the tavern was the universal rallying-place of good- 
fellowship. And then Goldsmith's intimacies lay chiefly 
among the Irish students, who were always ready for a 
wild freak and frolic. Among them he was a prime 
favorite and somewhat of a leader, from his exuberance 
of spirits, his vein of humor, and his talent at singing an 
Irish song and telling an Irish story. 

His usual carelessness in money-matters attended him. 
Though his supplies from home were scanty and irregu- 
lar, he never could bring himself into habits of prudence 
and economy ; often he was stripped of all his present 
finances at play ; often he lavished them away in fits of 
unguarded charity or generosity. Sometimes among his 
boon companions he assumed a ludicrous swagger in 
money-matters, which no one afterward was more ready 
than himself to laugh at. At a convivial meeting with a 



THE MOCK GHOST. 67 

number of his fellow-students lie suddenly proposed to 
draw lots with any one present which* of the two should 
treat the whole party to the play. The moment the prop- 
osition had bolted from his lips, his heart was in his 
throat. "To my great though secret joy," said he, "they 
all declined the challenge. Had it been accepted, and 
had I proved the loser, a part of my wardrobe must have 
been pledged in order to raise the money." 

At another of these meetings there was an earnest dis- 
pute on the question of ghosts, some being firm believers 
in the possibility of departed spirits returning to visit 
their friends and familiar haunts. One of the disputants 
set sail the next day for London, but the vessel put back 
through stress of weather. His return was unknown ex- 
cept to one of the believers in ghosts, who concerted with 
him a trick to be played off on the ojjposite party. In 
the evening, at a meeting of the students, the discussion 
was renewed ; and one of the most strenuous opposers of 
ghosts was asked whether he considered himself proof 
against ocular demonstration. He persisted in his scoff- 
ing. Some solemn process of conjuration was performed, 
and the .comrade supposed to be on his way to London 
made his appearance. The effect was fatal. The unbe- 
liever fainted at the sight, and ultimately went mad. We 
have no account of what share Goldsmith took in this 
transaction, a 4 : which he was present. 

The following letter to his friend Bryanton contains 
some of Goldsmith's impressions concerning Scotland 



68 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

and its inhabitants, and gives indications of that humor 
which characterized some of his later writings. 

" Robert Bryanton, at Ballymahon, Ireland. 

« 'Edinburgh, September 26th, 1753. 
"My deak Bob,— 

" How many good excuses (and you know I was ever 
good at an excuse) might I call up to vindicate my past 
shameful silence. I might tell how I wrote a long letter 
on my first coming hither, and seem vastly angry at my 
not receiving an answer ; I might allege that business 
(with business you know I was always pestered) had 
never given me time to finger a pen. But I suppress 
those and twenty more as plausible, and as easily in- 
vented, since they might be attended with a slight incon- 
venience of being known to be lies. Let me then speak 
truth. An hereditary indolence (I have it from the 
mother's side) has hitherto prevented my writing to you, 
and still prevents my writing at least twenty-five letters 
more, due to my friends in Ireland. No turnspit-dog 
gets up into his wheel with more reluctance than I sit 
down to write ; yet no dog ever loved the roast me;*t he 
turns better than I do him I now address. 

" Yet what shall I say now I am entered ? Shall I tire 
you with a description of this unfruitful country ; where 
I must lead you over their hills all brown with heath, or 
their valleys scarcely able to feed a rabbit? Man alone 
seems to be the only creature who has arrived to the 



SKETCHES OF SCOTLAXD. 69 

natural size in this poor soil. Every part of the country 
presents the same dismal landscape. No grove, nor brook, 
lend their music to cheer the stranger, or make the in- 
habitants forget their poverty. Yet with all these dis- 
advantages to call him down to humility, a Scotchman is 
one of the proudest things alive. The poor have pride 
ever ready to relieve them. If mankind should happen 
to despise them, they are masters of their own admira- 
tion; and that they can plentifully bestow upon them- 
selves. 

"From their pride and poverty, as I take it, results 
one advantage this country enjoys; namely, the gentle- 
men here are much better bred than among us. -No such 
character here as our fox-hunters; and they have ex- 
pressed great surprise when I informed them that some 
men in Ireland, of one thousand pounds a year, spend 
their whole lives in running after a hare, and drinking to 
be drunk. Truly, if such a being, equipped in his hunt- 
ing-dress, came among a circle of Scotch gentry, they 
would behold him with the same astonishment that a 
countryman does King George on horseback. 

" The men here have generally high cheek bones, and 
are lean and swarthy, fond of action, dancing in particu- 
lar. Now that I have mentioned dancing, let me say 
something of their balls, which are very frequent here. 
When a stranger enters the dancing-hall, he sees one 
end of the room taken up by the ladies, who sit dismally 
in a group by themselves ; — in the other end stand their 



70 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

pensive partners that are to be; — but no more inter- 
course between the sexes than there is between two 
countries at war. The ladies indeed may ogle, and the 
gentlemen sigh; but an embargo is laid on any closer 
commerce. At length, to interrupt hostilities, the lady 
directress, or intendant, or what you will, pitches upon 
a lady and gentleman to walk a minuet ; which they per- 
form with a formality that approaches to despondence. 
After five or six couple have thus walked the gauntlet, 
all stand up to country dances; each gentleman fur- 
nished with a partner from the aforesaid lady direc- 
tress ; so they dance much, say nothing, and thus con- 
cludes our assembly. I told a Scotch gentleman that 
such profound silence resembled the ancient procession 
of the Roman matrons in honor of Ceres ; and the Scotch 
gentleman told me (and faith I believe he was right) that 
I was a very great pedant for my pains. 

" Now I am come to the ladies ; and to show that I 
love Scotland, and everything that belongs to so charm- 
ing a country, I insist on it, and will give him leave to 
break my head that denies it — that the Scotch ladies are 
ten thousand times finer and handsomer than the Irish. 
To be sure, no^ I see your sisters Betty and Peggy 
vastly surprised at my partiality, — but tell them flatly, I 
don't value them — or their fine skins, or eyes, or good 

sense, or , a potato ; — for I say, and will maintain it ; 

and as a convincing proof (I am in a great, passion) of 
what I assert, the Scotch ladies say it themselves. But 



ENVIOUS PRUDES. 71 

to be less serious ; where will you find a language so 
prettily become a pretty mouth as the broad Scotch ? 
And the women here speak it in its highest purity ; for 
instance, teach one of your young ladies at home to pro- 
nounce .the "Whoar wull I gong?" with a becoming- 
widening of mouth, and I'll lay my life they'll wound ev- 
ery hearer. 

" We have no such character here as a coquette, but 
alas ! how many envious prudes ! Some days ago I 
walked into my Lord Kilcoubry's (don't be surprised, my 
lord is but a glover)," when the Duchess of Hamilton 
(that fair who sacrificed her beauty to her ambition, and 
her inward peace to a title and gilt equipage) passed by 
in her chariot ; her battered husband, or more properly 
the guardian of her charms, sat by her side. Straight 
envy began, in the shape of no less than three ladies who 
sat with me, to find faults in her faultless form. — ' For 
my part,' says the first, ' I think what I always thought, 
that the Duchess has too much of the red in her com- 
plexion.' 'Madam, I am of your opinion,' says the sec- 
ond ; ' I think her face has a palish cast too much on the 
delicate order.' 'And, let me tell you,' added the third 
lady, whose mouth was puckered up to the size of an 
issue, ' that the Duchess has fine lips, but she wants a 



* William Maclellan, who claimed the title, and whose son succeeded 
in establishing the claim in 1773. The father is said to have voted at the 
election of the sixteen Peers for Scotland ; and to have sold gloves in the 
lobby at this and other public assemblages. 



72 - OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

mouth.' — At this every lady drew up her mouth as if 
going to pronounce the letter P. 

" But how ill, my Bob, does it become me to ridicule 
women with whom I have scarcely any correspondence ! 
There are, 'tis certain, handsome women here ; and 'tis 
certain they have handsome men to keep them company. 
An ugly and poor man is society only for himself; and 
such society the world lets me enjoy in great abundance. 
Fortune has given you circumstances, and Nature a per- 
son to look charming in the eyes of the fair. Nor do I 
envy my dear Bob such blessings, while I may sit down 
and laugh at the world and at myself — the most ridicu- 
lous object in it. But you see I am grown downright 
splenetic, and perhaps the fit may continue till I receive 
an answer to this. I know you cannot send me much 
news from Ballymahon, but such as it is, send it all ; 
everything you send will be agreeable to me. 

" Has George Conway put up a sign yet ; or John Bin- 
ley left off drinking drams ; or Tom Allen got a new wig ? 
But I leave you to your own choice what to write. 
While I live, know you have a true friend in yours, <fec, 
&c, &c. Oliver Goldsmith. 

" P. S. — Give my sincere respects (not compliments, do 
you mind) to your agreeable family, and give my ser- 
vice to my mother, if you see her; for, as you ex- 
press it in Ireland, I have a sneaking kindness for her 
still. Direct to me, , Student in Physic, in Edin- 
burgh." 



TRIALS OF TOADYISM. 73 

Nothing worthy of preservation appeared from his pen 
during his residence in Edinburgh ; and indeed his poet- 
ical powers, highly as they had been estimated by his 
friends, had not as yet produced anything of superior 
merit. He made on one occasion a month's excursion to 
the Highlands. " I set out the first day on foot," says 
he, in a letter to his uncle Contarine, " but an ill-natured 
corn I have on my toe has for the future prevented that 
cheap mode of travelling; so the second day I hired a 
horse, about the size of a ram, and he walked away (trot 
he could not) as pensive as his master." 

During his residence in Scotland his convivial talents 
gained him at one time attentions in a high quarter, 
which, however, he had the good sense to appreciate 
correctly. " I have spent," says he, in one of his letters, 
" more than a fortnight every second day at the Duke of 
Hamilton's ; but it seems they like me more as a jester 
than as a companion, so I disdained so servile an em- 
ployment as unworthy my calling as a physician." Here 
we again find the origin of another passage in his auto- 
biography, under the character of the " Man in Black," 
wherein that worthy figures as a flatterer to a great man. 
"At first," says he, "I was surprised that the situation 
of a flatterer at a great man's table could be thought dis- 
agreeable ; there was no great trouble in listening atten- 
tively when his lordship spoke, and laughing when he 
looked round for applause. This, even good manners 
might have obliged me to perform. I found, however, 



74 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

too soon, his lordship was a greater dunce than myself, 
and from that moment flattery was at an end. I now 
rather aimed at setting him right than at receiving his 
absurdities with submission : to flatter those we do not 
know is an easy task ; but to flatter our intimate acquaint- 
ances, all whose foibles are strongly in our eyes, is 
drudgery insupportable. Every time I now opened my 
lips in praise, my falsehood went to my conscience ; his 
lordship soon perceived me to be very unfit for his ser- 
vice : I was therefore discharged ; my patron at the same 
time being graciously pleased to observe that he believed 
I was tolerably good-natured and had not the least harm 
in me." 

After spending two winters at Edinburgh, Goldsmith 
prepared to finish his medical studies on the Continent, 
for which his uncle Contarine agreed to furnish the 
funds. "I intend," said he, in a letter to his uncle, "to 
visit Paris, where the great Farheim, Petit, and Du 
Hamel de Monceau instruct their pupils in all the 
branches of medicine. They speak French, and conse- 
quently I shall have much the advantage of most of my 
countrymen, as I am perfectly acquainted with that lan- 
guage, and few who leave Ireland are so. I shall spend 
the spring and summer in Paris, and the beginning of 
next winter go to Leyden. The great Albinus is still 
alive there, and 't will be proper to go, though only to 
have it said that we have studied in so famous a uni- 
versity. 



A POET'S PURSE* 75 

" As I shall not have another opportunity of receiving 
money from your bounty till my return to Ireland, so I 
have drawn for the last sum that I hope I shall ever 
trouble you for ; 'tis £20. And now, dear sir, let me 
here acknowledge the humility of the station in which 
you found me ; let me tell how I was despised by most, 
and hateful to myself. Poverty, hopeless poverty, was 
my lot, and Melancholy was beginning to make me her 

own, when you But I stop here, to inquire how 

your health goes on ? How does my cousin Jenny, and 
has she recovered her late complaint? How does my 
poor Jack Goldsmith ? I fear his disorder is of such a 
nature as he won't easily recover. I wish, my dear sir, 
you would make me happy by another letter before I go 
abroad, for there I shall hardly hear from you. . . . Give 
my — how shall I express it? — give my earnest love to 
Mr. and Mrs. Lawder." 

Mrs. Lawder was Jane, his early playmate — the object 
of his valentine — his first poetical insjnration. She had 
been for some time married. 

Medical instruction, it will be perceived, was the osten- 
sible motive for this visit to the Continent, but the real 
one, in all probability, was his long-cherished desire to 
see foreign parts. This, however, he would not acknowl- 
edge even to himself, but sought to reconcile his roving 
propensities with some grand moral purpose. "I esteem 
the traveller who instructs the heart," says he, in one of 
his subsequent writings, " but I despise him who only 



76 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

indulges the imagination. A man who leaves home to 
mend himself and others, is a philosopher ; but he who 
goes from country to country, guided by the blind im- 
pulse of curiosity, is only a vagabond." He, of course, 
was to travel as a philosopher, and in truth his outfits 
for a Continental tour were in character. " I shall carry 
just <£33 to France," said he, " with good store of clothes, 
shirts, &c, and that with economy will suffice." He 
forgot to make mention of Lis flute, which it will be 
found had occasionally to come in play when economy 
could not replenish his purse, nor philosophy find him a 
supper. Thus slenderly provided with money, prudence 
or experience, and almost as slightly guarded against 
" hard knocks " as the hero of La Mancha, whose head- 
piece was half iron, half pasteboard, he made his final 
sally forth upon the world ; hoping all things ; believing 
all things : little anticipating the checkered ills in store 
for him ; little thinking when he penned his valedictory 
letter to his good uncle Contarine, that he was never to 
see him more ; never to return after all his wandering to 
the friend of his infancy : never to revisit his early and 
fondly remembered haunts at " sweet Lissoy " and Bally- 
mahon. 



CHAPTER V. 

THE AGREEABLE FELLOW-PASSENGERS. — RISKS FROM FRIENDS PICKED UP BY 
THE WAYSIDE. — SKETCHES OF HOLLAND AND THE DUTCH. — SHIFTS WHILE 
A POOH STUDENT AT LEYDEN. — THE TULIP SPECULATION. — THE PROVI- 
DENT FLUTE. — SOJOURN AT PARIS.— SKETCH OF VOLTAIRE.— TRAVELLING 
SHIFTS OF A PHILOSOPHIC VAGABOND. 




pS usual indiscretion attended Goldsmith at the 
very outset cf his foreign enterprise. He had 
intended to take shipping at Leith for Holland ; 
but on arriving at that port, he found a ship about to 
sail for Bordeaux, with six agreeable passengers, whose 
acquaintance he had probably made at the inn. He was 
not a man to resist a sudden impulse ; so, instead of em- 
barking for Holland, he found himself ploughing the 
seas on his way to the other side of the continent. 
Scarcely had the ship been two days at sea, when she 
was driven by stress of weather to Newcastle-upon-Tyne. 
Here "of course" Goldsmith and his agreeable fellow- 
passengers found it expedient to go on shore and "re- 
fresh themselves after the fatigues of the voyage." "Of 
course " they frolicked and made merry until a late hour 
in the evening, when, in the midst of their hilarity, the 
door was burst open, and a sergeant and twelve grena- 

77 



78 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

diers entered with fixed bayonets, and took the whole 
convivial party prisoners. 

It seems that the agreeable companions with whom 
our greenhorn had struck up such a sudden intimacy, 
were Scotchmen in the French service, who had been in 
Scotland enlisting recruits for the French army. 

In vain Goldsmith protested his innocence; he was 
marched off with his fellow-travellers to prison, whence 
he with difficulty obtained his release at the end of a 
fortnight. With his customary facility, however, at pal- 
liating his misadventures, he found everything turn out 
for the best. His imprisonment saved his life, for dur- 
ing his detention the ship proceeded on her voyage, but 
was wrecked at the mouth of the Garonne, and all on 
board perished. 

Goldsmith's second embarkation was for Holland di- 
rect, and in nine days he arrived at Botterdam, whence 
he proceeded, without any more deviations, to Leyden. 
He gives a whimsical picture, in one of his letters, of 
the appearance of the Hollanders. "The modern Dutch- 
man is quite a different creature from him of former 
times : he in everything imitates a Frenchman but in his 
easy, disengaged air. He is vastly ceremonious, and is, 
perhaps, exactly what a Frenchman might have been in 
the reign of Louis XIV. Such are the better bred. But 
the downright Hollander is one of the oddest figures in 
nature. Upon a lank head of hair he wears a half-cocked 
narrow hat, laced with black ribband ; no coat, but seven 



SKETCHES OF HOLLAND. 79 

waistcoats and nine pair of breeches, so that his hips 
reach up almost to his armpits. This well-clothed vege- 
table is now fit to see company or make love. But what 
a pleasing creature is the object of his appetite! why, 
she wears a large fur cap, with a deal of Flanders lace ; 
and for every pair of breeches he carries, she puts on 
two petticoats. 

"A Dutch lady burns nothing about her phlegmatic 
admirer but his tobacco. You must know, sir, every 
woman carries in her hand a stove of coals, which, when 
she sits, she snugs under her petticoats, and at this 
chimney, dozing Strephon lights his pipe." 

In the same letter he contrasts Scotland and Holland. 
" There, hills and rocks intercept every prospect ; here, 
it is all a continued plain. There you might see a well- 
dressed Duchess issuing from a dirty close, and here 
a dirty Dutchman inhabiting a palace. The Scotch 
may be compared to a tulip, planted in dung; but I 
can never see a Dutchman in his own house, but I 
think of a magnificent Egyptian temple dedicated to 
an ox." 

The country itself awakened his admiration. "Noth- 
ing," said he, "can equal its beauty; wherever I turn my 
eyes, fine houses, elegant gardens, statues, grottos, vistas, 
present themselves ; but when you enter their towns, you 
are charmed beyond description. No misery is to be 
seen here, every, one is usefully employed." And again ? 
in his noble description in "The Traveller" i 



80 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

" To men of other minds my fancy flies, 
Imbosom'd in the deep where Holland lies. 
Methinks her patient sons before me stand, 
Where the broad ocean leans against the land, 
And, sedulous to stop the coming tide, 
Lifts the tall rampire's artificial pride. 
Onward, methinks, and diligently slow, 
The firm connected bulwark seems to grow ; 
Spreads its long arms amid the watery roar, 
Scoops out an empire, and usurps the shore, 
While the pent ocean, rising o'er the pile 
Sees an amphibious world before him smile: 
The slow canal, the yellow blossom'd vale, 
The willow-tufted bank, the gliding sail, 
The crowded mart, the cultivated plain, 
A new creation rescued from his reign." 

He remained about a year at Leyden, attending the 
lectures of Gaubius on chemistry and Albinus on anat- 
omy ; though his studies are said to have been miscel- 
laneous, and directed to literature rather than science. 
The thirty-three pounds with which he had set out on 
his travels were soon consumed, and he was put to many 
a shift to meet his expenses until his precarious remit- 
tances should arrive. He had a good friend on these 
occasions in a fellow-student and countryman, named 
Ellis, who afterwards rose to eminence as a physician. 
He used frequently to loan small sums to Goldsmith, 
which were always scrupulously paid. Ellis discovered 
the innate merits of the poor awkward student, and used 
to declare in after-life that " it was a common remark in 



STUDENT AT LEY I) EX, 81 

Leydeii, that in all the peculiarities of Goldsmith, an 
elevation of mind was to be noted ; a philosophical tone 
and manner; the feelings of a gentleman, and the lan- 
guage and information of a scholar." 

Sometimes, in his emergencies, Goldsmith undertook 
to teach the English language. It is true he was igno- 
rant of the Dutch, but he had a smattering of the French, 
picked up among the Irish priests at Ballymahon. He 
depicts his whimsical embarrassment in this respect, in 
his account in the "Vicar of Wakefield " of the philosophi- 
cal vagabond, who went to Holland to teach the natives 
English, without knowing a word of their own language. 
Sometimes, when sorely pinched, and sometimes, per- 
haps, when flush, he resorted to the gambling-tables, 
which in those days abounded in Holland. His good 
friend Ellis repeatedly warned him against this unfortu- 
nate propensity, but in vain. It brought its own cure, or 
rather its own punishment, by stripping him of every 
shilling. 

Ellis once more stepped in to his relief with a true 
Irishman's generosity, but with more considerateness 
than generally characterizes an Irishman, for he only 
granted pecuniary aid on condition of his quitting the 
sphere of danger. Goldsmith gladly consented to leave 
Holland, being anxious to visit other parts. He intended 
to proceed to Paris and pursue his studies there, and 
was furnished by his friend with money for the journey. 
Unluckily, he rambled into the garden of a florist just 



82 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

before quitting Leyden. The tulip-mania was still preva- 
lent in Holland, and some species of that splendid flower 
brought immense prices. In wandering through the gar- 
den, Goldsmith recollected that his uncle Contarine was 
a tulip-fancier. The thought suddenly struck him that 
here was an opportunity of testifying, in a delicate man 
ner, his sense of that generous uncle's past kindnesseSc 
In an instant his hand was in his pocket ; a number of 
choice and costly tulip-roots were purchased and packed 
up for Mr. Contarine ; and it was not until he had paid 
for them that he bethought himself that he had spent 
all the money borrowed for his travelling expenses. Too 
proud, however, to give up his journey, and too shame- 
faced to make another appeal to his friend's liberality, he 
determined to travel on foot, and depend upon chance 
and good luck for the means of getting forward ; and it is 
said that he actually set off on a tour of the Continent, 
in February, 1755, with but one sjDare shirt, a flute, and a 
single guinea. 

" Blessed," says one of his biographers, " with a good 
constitution, an adventurous spirit, and with that thought- 
less, or, perhaps, happy disposition which takes no care 
for to-morrow, he continued his travels for a long time 
in spite of innumerable privations." In his amusing nar- 
rative of the adventures of a "Philosophic Vagabond" 
in the " Vicar of Wakefield," we find shadowed out the 
expedients he pursued. "I had some knowledge of 
music, with a tolerable voice ; I now turned what was 



THE PRO V ID EXT FLUTE. 83 

once my amusement into a present means of subsistence. 
I passed among the harmless peasants of Flanders, and 
among such of the French as were poor enough to be 
very merry, for I ever found them sprightly in proportion 
to their wants. Whenever I apjDroaehed a peasant's 
house towards nightfall, I played one of my merries ': 
tunes, and that procured me not only a lodging, but sub- 
sistence for the next day ; but in truth I must own, when- 
ever I attempted to entertain persons of a higher rank*, 
they always thought my performance odious, and never 
made me any return for my endeavors to please them." 

At Paris he attended the chemical lectures of Eouelle, 
then in great vogue, where he says he witnessed as bright 
a circle of beauty as graced the court of Versailles. His 
love of theatricals also led him to attend the perform- 
ances of the celebrated actress Mademoiselle Clairon, 
with which he was greatly delighted. He seems to have 
looked upon the state of society with the eye of a phi- 
losopher, but to have read the signs of the times with the 
prophetic eye of a poet. In his rambles about the envi- 
rons of Paris he was struck with the immense quantities 
of game running about almost in a tame state ; and saw 
in those costly and rigid preserves for the amusement 
and luxury of the privileged few, a sure " badge of the 
slavery of the people." This slavery he predicted was 
drawing towards a close. " When I consider that these 
parliaments, Ihe members of which are all created by the 
court, and the presidents of which can only act by im- 



84 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

mediate direction, presume even to mention privileges 
and freedom, who till of late received directions from the 
throne with implicit humility ; when this is considered, 1 
cannot help fancying that the genius of Freedom has en- 
tered that kingdom in disguise. If they have but three 
weak monarchs more successively on the throne, the 
mask will be laid aside, and the country will certainly 
once more be free." Events have testified to the sage 
forecast of the poet. 

During a brief sojourn in Paris, he appears to have 
gained access to valuable society, and to have had the 
honor and pleasure of making the acquaintance of Vol- 
taire ; of whom, in after-years, he wrote a memoir. " As 
a companion," says he, "no man ever exceeded him when 
he pleased to lead the conversation ; which, however, was 
not always the case. In company which he either dis- 
liked or despised, few could be more reserved than he ; 
but when he was warmed in discourse, and got over a 
hesitating manner, which sometimes lie was subject to, it 
was rapture to hear him. His meagre visage seemed in- 
sensibly to gather beauty : every muscle in it had mean- 
ing, and his eye beamed with unusual brightness. The 
person who Avrites this memoir," continues he, " remem- 
bers to have seen him in a select company of wits of both 
sexes at Paris, when the subject happened to turn upon 
English taste and learning. Fontenelle, (then nearly a 
hundred years old,) who was of the party, and who being 
unacquainted with the language or authors of the coun- 



SKETCH OF VOLTAIRE. 85 

try lie undertook to condemn, with a spirit truly vulgar 
began to revile both. Diderot, who liked the English, 
and knew something of their literary pretensions, at- 
tempted to vindicate their poetry and learning, but with 
unequal abilities. The company quickly perceived that 
Fontenelle was superior in the dispute, and were sur- 
prised at the silence which Voltaire had preserved all the 
former part of the night, particularly as the conversation 
happened to turn upon one of his favorite topics. Fon- 
tenelle continued his triumph until about twelve o'clock, 
when Voltaire appeared at last roused from his reverie. 
His whole frame seemed animated. He began his de- 
fence with the utmost defiance mixed with spirit, and now 
and then let fall the finest strokes of raillery upon his an- 
tagonist ; and his harangue lasted till three in the morn- 
ing. I must confess, that, whether from national partial- 
ity, or from the elegant sensibility of his manner, I never 
was so charmed, nor did I ever remember so absolute a 
victory as he gained in this dispute." Goldsmith's ram- 
blings took him into Germany and Switzerland, from 
which last-mentioned country he sent to his brother in 
Ireland the first brief sketch, afterwards amplified into 
his poem of the " Traveller." 

At Geneva he became travelling tutor to a mongrel 
young gentleman, son of a London pawnbroker, who had 
been suddenly elevated into fortune and absurdity by 
the death of an uncle. The youth, before setting up for 
a gentleman, had been an attorney's apprentice, and was 



86 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

an arrant pettifogger in money-matters. Never were two 
beings more illy assorted than lie and Goldsmith. We 
may form an idea of the tutor and the pupil from the 
following extract from the narrative of the " Philosophic 
Vagabond." 

" I was to be the young gentleman's governor, but 
with a proviso that he could always be permitted to 
govern himself. My pupil, in fact, understood the art of 
guiding in money-concerns much better than I. He was 
heir to a fortune of about two hundred thousand pounds, 
left him by an uncle in the West Indies ; and his guar- 
dians, to qualify him for the management of it, had 
bound him apprentice to an attorney. Thus avarice was 
his prevailing passion ; all his questions on the road 
were, how money might be saved, — which was the least 
expensive course of travel, — whether anything could be 
bought that would turn to account when disposed of 
again in London ? Such curiosities on the way as could 
be seen for nothing he was ready enough to look at ; but 
if the sight of them was to be paid for, he usually as- 
serted that he had been told that they were not worth 
seeing. He never paid a bill that he would not observe 
how amazingly expensive travelling was, and all this 
though not yet twenty-one." 

In this sketch Goldsmith undoubtedly shadows forth 
his annoyances as travelling tutor to this concrete young 
gentleman, compounded of the pawnbroker, the pettifog- 
ger, and the West Indian heir, with an overlaying of the 



A WANDEBItfG SCHOLAR. 8«" 

city miser. They had continual difficulties on all points 
of expense until they reached Marseilles, where both 
were glad to separate. 

Once more on foot, but freed from the irksome duties 
of " bear-leader," and with some of his pay, as tutor, in 
his pocket, Goldsmith continued his half vagrant pere- 
grinations through part of France and Piedmont and 
some of the Italian States. He had acquired, as has 
been shown, a habit of shifting along and living by expe- 
dients, and a new one presented itself in Italy. " My 
skill in music," says he, in the " Philosophic Vagabond,'' 
" could avail me nothing in a country where every peas* 
ant was a better musician than I ; but by this time I had 
acquired another talent, which answered my purpose as 
well, and this was a skill in disputation. In all the for- 
eign universities and convents there are, upon certain 
days, philosophical theses maintained against every ad- 
ventitious disputant, for which, if the champion opposes 
with any dexterity, he can claim a gratuity in money, 
a dinner, and a bed for one night." Though a poor wan- 
dering scholar, his reception in these learned piles was 
as free from humiliation as in the cottages of the peas- 
antry. " With the members of these establishments," 
said he, " I could converse on topics of literature, and 
then I always forgot the meanness of my circumstances.'''' 

At Padua, where he remained, some months, he is said 
to have taken his medical degree. It is probable he was 
brought to a pause in this city by the illness of his uncle 



88 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

Contarine ; who had hitherto assisted him in his wan- 
derings by occasional, though, of course, slender remit- 
tances. Deprived of this source of supplies, he wrote 
to his friends in Ireland, and especially to his brother- 
in-law, Hodson, describing his destitute situation. His 
letters brought him neither money nor reply. It ap- 
pears, from subsequent correspondence, that his brother- 
in-law actually exerted himself to raise a subscription 
for his assistance among his relatives, friends, and ac- 
quaintance, but without success. Their faith and hope 
in him were most probably at an end ; as yet he had dis- 
appointed them at every point, he had given none of 
the anticipated proofs of talent, and they were too poor 
to support what they may have considered the wander- 
ing propensities of a heedless spendthrift. 

Thus left to his own precarious resources, Goldsmith 
gave up all further wandering in Italy, without visiting 
the south, though Borne and Naples must have held out 
powerful attractions to one of his poetical cast. Once 
more resuming his pilgrim staff, he turned his face to- 
ward England, " walking along from city to city, examin- 
ing mankind more nearly, and seeing both sides of the 
picture." In traversing France his flute — his magic flute ! 
— was once more in requisition, as wo may conclude b\ 
the following passage in his " Traveller " : — 

"Gay, sprightly land of mirth and social ease, 
Pleased with thyself, whom all the world can please, 



FRANCE. 89 

How often have I led thy sportive choir 
With tuneless pipe beside the murmuring Loire! 
Where shading elms along the margin grew, 
And freshened from the wave the zephyr flew; 
And haply though my harsh note falt'ring still, 
But mocked all tune, and marr'd the dancer's skill; 
Yet would the village praise my wondrous power, 
And dance forgetful of the noontide hour. 
Alike all ages : Dames of ancient days 
Have led their children through the mirthful maze, 
And the gay grandsire, skill'd in gestic lore, 
Has frisk'd beneath the burden of three-score. " 




CHAPTEK VI 

LANDING IN ENGLAND.— SHIFTS OF A MAN WITHOUT MONET. — THE PESTLE 
AND MORTAR. — THEATRICALS IN A BARN. — LAUNCH UPON LONDON.— A 
CITY NIGHT-SCENE.— STRUGGLES WITH PENURY.— MISERIES OF A TUTOR. 
— A DOCTOR IN THE SUBURB. — POOR PRACTICE AND SECOND-HAND FINERY. 
— A TRAGEDY IN EMBRYO. — PRO.IECT OF THE WRITTEN MOUNTAINS. 

HIFTER two years spent in roving about the Con- 
tinent, " pursuing novelty," as he said, " and 
losing content," Goldsmith landed at Dover 
early in 1756. He appears to have had no definite plan 
of action. The death of his uncle Contarine, and the 
neglect of his relatives and friends to reply to his letters, 
seem to have produced in him a temporary feeling of 
loneliness and destitution, and his only thought was to 
get to London, and throw himself upon the world. But 
how was he to get there ? k His purse was empty. Eng- 
land was to him as completely a foreign land as any part 
of the Continent, and where on earth is a penniless stran- 
ger more destitute ? His flute and his philosophy were 
no longer of any avail ; the English boors cared nothing 
for music ; there were no convents ; and as to the learned 
and the clergy, not one of them would give a vagrant 
scholar a supper and night's lodging for the best thesis 

90 



SHIFTS FOR MOXEY. 91 

that ever was argued. " You may easily imagine," says 
he, in a subsequent letter to his brother-in-law, " what 
difficulties I had to encounter, left as I was without 
friends, recommendations, money, or impudence, and that 
in a country where being born an Irishman was sufficient 
to keep me unemployed. Many, in such circumstances, 
would have had recourse to the friar's cord or the sui- 
cide's halter. But, with all my follies, I had principle to 
resist the one, and resolution to combat the other." 

He applied at one place, we are told, for employment 
in the shop of a country apothecary ; but all his medica] 
science gathered in foreign universities could not gain 
him the management of a pestle and mortar. He even 
resorted, it is said, to the stage as a temporary expedient, 
and figured in low comedy at a country town in Kent. 
This accords with his last shift of the Philosophic Vaga- 
bond, and with the knowledge of country theatricals 
displayed in his " Adventures of a Strolling Player," or 
may be a story suggested by them. All this part of his 
career, however, in which he must have trod the lowest 
paths of humility, are only to be conjectured from vague 
traditions, or scraps of autobiography gleaned from his 
miscellaneous writings. 

At length we find him launched on the great metro- 
polis, or rather drifting about its streets, at night, in the 
gloomy month of February, with but a few half-pence in 
his pocket. The Deserts of Arabia are not more dreary 
and inhospitable than the streets of London at such a 



92 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

time, and to a stranger in such a plight. Do we want a 
picture as an illustration ? We have it in his own works, 
and furnished, doubtless, from his own experience. 

" The clock has just struck two ; what a gloom hangs 
all around ! no sound is heard but of the chiming clock, 
or the distant watch-dog. How few appear in those 
streets, which but some few hours ago were crowded ! 
But who are those who make the streets their couch, and 
find a short repose from wretchedness at the doors of the 
opulent ? They are strangers, wanderers, and orphans, 
whose circumstances are too humble to expect redress, 
and whose distresses are too great even for pity. Some 
are without the covering even of rags, and others emaci- 
ated with disease ; the world has disclaimed them ; soci- 
ety turns its back upon their distress, and has given 
them up to nakedness and hunger. These poor shivering 
females have once seen happier days, and been flattered into 
beauty. They are now turned out to meet the severity of 
winter. Perhaps now, lying at the doors of their be- 
trayers, they sue to wretches whose hearts are insensi- 
ble, or debauchees who may curse, but will not relieve 
them. 

" Why, why was I born a man, and yet see the suffer- 
ings of wretches I cannot relieve ! Poor houseless crea- 
tures ! The world will give you reproaches, but will not 
give you relief." 

Poor houseless Goldsmith ! we may here ejaculate — to 
what shifts he must have been driven to find shelter and 



MISERIES OF AN USHER. 93 

sustenance for himself in this his first venture into Lon- 
don ! Many years afterwards, in the days of his social 
elevation, he startled a polite circle at Sir Joshua Rey- 
nolds's by humorously dating an anecdote about the time 
he "lived among the beggars of Axe Lane." Such may 
have been the desolate quarters with which he was fain 
to content himself when thus adrift upon the town, with 
but a few half-pence in his pocket. 

The first authentic trace we have of him in this new 
part of his career, is filling the situation of an usher to a 
school, and even this employ he obtained with some diffi- 
culty, after a reference for a character to his friends in 
the University of Dublin. In the " Vicar of Wakefield " 
he makes George Primrose undergo a whimsical cate- 
chism concerning the requisites for an usher. " Have 
you been bred apprentice to the business?" "No." 
"Then you won't do for a school. Can you dress the 
boys' hair?" "No." " Then you won't do for a school. 
Can you lie three in a bed?" "No." "Then you will 
never do for a school. Have you a ^ood stomach ? " 
"Yes." "Then you will by no means do for a school. I 
have been an usher in a boarding-school myself, and 
may I die of an anodyne necklace, but I had rather be 
under-turnkey in Newgate. I was up early and late : I 
was browbeat by the master, hated for my ugly face by 
the mistress, worried by the boys." 

Goldsmith remained but a short time in this situation, 
and to the mortifications experienced there we doubtless 



94 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

owe the picturings given in his writings of the hardships 
of an usher's life. " He is generally," says he, " the 
laughing-stock of the school. Every trick is j^layed upon 
him ; the oddity of his manner, his dress, or his language, 
is a fund of eternal ridicule ; the master himself now and 
then cannot avoid joining in the laugh ; and the poor 
wretch, eternally resenting this ill-usage lives in a state of 
war with all the family." .... "He is obliged, perhaps, 
to sleep in the same bed with the French teacher, who 
disturbs him for an hour every night in pap&riog and fil- 
leting his hair, and stinks worse than a carrion with his 
rancid pomatums, when he lays his head beside him on 
the bolster." 

His next shift was as assistant in the laboratory of a 
chemist near Fish-Street Hill. After remaining here a 
few months, he heard that Dr. Sleigh, who had been his 
friend and fellow-student at Edinburgh, was in London. 
Eager to meet with a friendly face in this land of stran- 
gers, he immediately called on him; "but though it was 
Sunday, and it is to be supposed I was in my best clothes, 
Sleigh scarcely knew me — such is the tax the unfortu- 
nate pay to poverty. However, when he did recollect 
me, I found his heart as warm as ever, and he shared his 
purse and friendship with me during his continuance in 
London." 

Through the advice and assistance of Dr. Sleigh, he 
now commenced the practice of medicine, but in a small 
Tvay, in Bankside, Southwark, and chiefly among the 



A DOCTOR JX THE SUBURB. - 95 

poor ; for lie wanted the figure, address, polish, and 
management, to succeed among the rich. His old school- 
mate and college companion, Beatty, who used to aid him 
with his purse at the university, met him about this time, 
decked out in the tarnished finery of a second-hand suit 
of green and gold, with a shirt and neckcloth of a fort- 
night's wear. 

Poor Goldsmith endeavored to assume a prosperous 
air in the eyes of his early associate. " He was practis- 
ing physic," he said, "and doing very well!" At this 
moment poverty was pinching him to the bone in spite of 
his practice and his dirty finery. His fees were neces- 
sarily small and ill paid, and he was fain to seek some 
precarious assistance from his pen. Here his quondam 
fellow-student, Dr. Sleigh, was again of service, introduc- 
ing him to some of the booksellers, who gave him occa- 
sional, though starveling, employment. According to tra- 
dition, however, his most efficient patron just now was a 
journeyman printer, one of his poor patients of Bankside, 
who had formed a good opinion of his talents, and per- 
ceived his poverty and his literary shifts. The printer 
was in the employ of Mr. Samuel Bichardson, the au- 
thor of "Pamela," "Clarissa," and "Sir Charles Gran- 
dison " ; who combined the novelist and the publisher, 
and was in flourishing circumstances. Through the jour- 
neyman's intervention Goldsmith is said to have become 
acquainted with Bichardson, who employed him as 
reader and corrector of the press, at his printing estab- 



96 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

lishment in Salisbury Court, — an occupation which he 
alternated with his medical duties. 

Being admitted occasionally to Richardson's parlor, he 
began to form literary acquaintances, among whom the 
most important was Dr. Young, the author of " Night 
Thoughts," a poem in the height of fashion. It is not 
probable, however, that much familiarity took place at 
the time between the literary lion of the day and the 
poor iEsculapius of Bankside, the humble corrector of 
the press. Still the communion with literary men had 
its effect to set his imagination teeming. Dr. Farr, one 
of his Edinburgh fellow r -students, who was at London 
about this time, attending the hospitals and lectures, 
gives us an amusing account of Goldsmith in his literary 
character. 

" Early in January he called upon me one morning be- 
fore I was up, and, on my entering the room, I recog- 
nized my old acquaintance, dressed in a rusty, full- 
trimmed black suit, Avith his pockets full of papers,, 
which instantly reminded me of the poet in Garrick's 
farce of 'Lethe.' After we had finished our breakfast, 
he drew from his pocket part of a tragedy, which he said 
he had brought for my correction. In vain I pleaded in- 
ability, when he began to read ; and every part on which 
I expressed a doubt as to the propriety was immediately 
blotted out. I then most earnestly pressed him not to 
trust to my judgment, but to take the opinion of persons 
better qualified to decide on dramatic compositions. 



SECOND-HAXD FINERY. 97 

He now told me lie had submitted his production, so far 
as lie had written, to Mr. Richardson, the author of ' Cla- 
rissa,' on which I peremptorily declined offering another 
criticism on the performance." 

From the graphic description given of him by Dr. Farr, 
it will be perceived that the tarnished finery of green 
and gold had been succeeded by a professional suit of 
black, to which, we are told, were added the wig and 
cane indispensable to medical doctors in those days. 
The coat was a second-hand one, of rusty velvet, with a 
patch on the left breast, which he adroitly covered with 
bis three-cornered hat during his medical visits; and we 
have an amusing anecdote of his contest of courtesy with 
a patient who persisted in endeavoring to relieve him 
from the hat, which only made him press it more devoutly 
to his heart. 

Nothing further has ever been heard of the tragedy 
mentioned by Dr. Farr ; it was probably never completed. 
The same gentleman speaks of a strange Quixotic scheme 
which Goldsmith had in contemplation at the time, " of 
going to decipher the inscriptions on the written moun- 
tains, though he was altogether ignorant of Arabic, or 
the language in which they might be supposed to be 
written. "The salary of three hundred pounds," adds 
Dr. Farr, "which had been left for the purpose, was the 
temptation." This was probably one of the many dreamy 
projects with which his fervid brain was apt to teem. 
On such subjects he was prone tq talk vaguely and mag- 
1 



98 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

nificently, but inconsiderately, from a kindled imagina- 
tion rather than a well-instructed judgment. He had 
always a great notion of expeditions to the East, and 
wonders to be seen and effected in the Oriental coun- 
tries. 




CHAPTEE VH 

LIFE OF A PEDAGOGUE. — KINDNESS TO SCHOOLBOYS. — PERTNESS IN RETURN. 
— EXPENSIVE CHARITIES. — THE GRIFFITHS AND THE '"MONTHLY REVIEW." 
— TOILS OF A LITERARY HACK. — RUPTURE WITH THE GRIFFITHS. 

MONG the most cordial of Goldsmith's inti- 
mates in London during this time of precari- 
ous struggle, were certain of his former fellow- 
students in Edinburgh. One of these was the son of a Dr. 
Milner, a dissenting minister, who kept a classical school 
of eminence at Peckham, in Surrey. Young Milner ahd 
a favorable opinion of Goldsmith's abilities and attain- 
ments, and cherished for him that goodwill which his ge- 
nial nature seems ever to have inspired among his school 
and college associates. His father falling ill, the young 
man negotiated with Goldsmith to take temporary charge 
of the school. The latter readily consented ; for he was 
discouraged by the slow growth of medical reputation 
and practice, and as yet had no confidence in the coy 
smiles of the Muse. Laying by his wig and cane, there- 
fore, and once more wielding the ferule, he resumed the 
character of the pedagogue, and for some time reigned as 
vicegerent over the academy at Peckham. He appears to 



L-ofC. 



100 OLIVEH GOLDSMITH. 

have been well treated by both Dr. Milner and his wife; 
and became a favorite with the scholars from his easy, 
indulgent good-nature. He mingled in their sports ; told 
them droll stories ; played on the flute for their amuse- 
ment, and spent his money in treating them to sweet- 
meats and other schoolboy dainties. His familiarity 
was sometimes carried too far; he indulged in boyish 
pranks and practical jokes, and drew upon himself re- 
torts in kind, which, however, he bore with great good- 
humor. Once, indeed, he was touched to the quick by 
a piece of schoolboy pertness. After playing on the flute, 
he spoke with enthusiasm of music, as delightful in it- 
self, and as a valuable accomplishment for a gentleman, 
whereupon a youngster, with a glance at his ungainly 
person, wished to know if he considered himself a gentle- 
man. Poor Goldsmith, feelingly alive to the awkwardness 
of his appearance and the humility of his situation, 
winced at this unthinking sneer, which long rankled in 
his mind. 

As usual, while in Dr. Milner's employ, his benevolent 
feelings were a heavy tax upon his purse, for he never 
could resist a tale of distress, and was apt to be fleeced 
by every sturdy beggar ; so that, between his charity and 
his munificence, he was generally in advance of his slen- 
der salary. "You had better, Mr. Goldsmith, let me 
take care of your money," said Mrs. Milner one day, " as 
I do for some of the young gentlemen." " In truth, mad- 
am, there is equal need ! " was the good-humored reply. 



THE GRIFFITHS. 101 

Dr. Milner was a man of some literary pretensions, and 
wrote occasionally for the " Monthly Review," of which a 

bookseller, by the name of Griffiths, was proprietor. 
This work was an advocate for "Whig principles, and had 
been in prosperous existence for nearly eight years. Of 
late, however, periodicals had multiplied exceedingly, 
and a formidable Tory rival had started up in the " Criti- 
cal Review," published by Archibald Hamilton, a book- 
seller, and aided by the powerful and popular pen of Dr. 
Smollett. Griffiths was obliged to recruit his forces. 
While so doing he met Goldsmith, a humble occupant of 
a seat at Dr. Milner's table, and was struck with remarks 
on men and books, which fell from him in the course of 
conversation. He took occasion to sound him privately 
as to his inclination and capacity as a reviewer, and was 
furnished by him with specimens of his literary and criti- 
cal talents. They proved satisfactory. The consequence 
was that Goldsmith once more changed his mode of life, 
and in April, 1757, became a contributor to the " Monthly 
Keview," at a small fixed salary, with board and lodging ; 
and accordingly took up his abode with Mr. Griffiths, at 
the sign of the Dunciad, Paternoster Eow. As usual we 
trace this phase of his fortunes in his semi-fictitious 
writings ; his sudden transmutation of the pedagogue 
into the author being humorously set forth in the case of 
" George Primrose " in the " Vicar of Wakefield." " Come," 
says George's adviser, " I see you are a lad of spirit and 
some learning ; what do you think of commencing au- 



102 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

thor like me ? You have read in books, no doubt, of 
men of genius starving at the trade : at present I'll show 
you forty very dull fellows about town that live by it ir 
opulence. All honest, jog-trot men, who go on smoothly 
and dully, and write history and polities, and are praised : 
men, sir, who, had they been bred cobblers, would all 
their lives only have mended shoes, but never made 
them." "Finding" (says George) "that there was no 
great degree of gentility affixed to the character of an 
usher, I resolved to accept his proposal ; and, having the 
highest respect for literature, hailed the antiqua mater of 
Grub Street with reverence. I thought it my glory to 
pursue a track which Dryden and Otway trod before 
me." Alas, Dryden struggled with indigence all his 
days ; and Otway, it is said, fell a victim to famine in his 
thirty -fifth year, being strangled by a roll .of bread, which 
he devoured with the voracity of a starving man. 

In Goldsmith's experience the track soon proved a 
thorny one. Griffiths was a hard business -man, of 
shrewd, worldly good sense, but little refinement or cul- 
tivation. He meddled or rather muddled with literature, 
too, in a business-way, altering and modifying occasion- 
ally the writings of his contributors, and in this he was 
aided by his wife, who, according to Smollett, was " an 
antiquated female critic and a dabbler in the 'Review.'" 
Such was the literary vassalage to which Goldsmith had 
unwarily subjected himself. A diurnal drudgery was 
imposed on him, irksome to his indolent habits, and 



EtfJ) OF THE LITERARY VASSALAGE. 103 

attended by circumstances humiliating to his pride. He 
had to write daily from nine o'clock until two, and often 
throughout the day ; whether in the vein or not and on 
subjects dictated by his task-master, however foreign to 
his taste ; in a word, he was treated as a mere literary 
hack. But this was not the worst ; it was the critical 
supervision of Griffiths and his wife, which grieved him ; 
the "illiterate, bookselling Griffiths," as Smollett called 
them, "who presumed to revise, alter, and amend the 
articles contributed to their 'Review.' Thank Heaven," 
crowed Smollett, " the ' Critical Review ' is not written 
under the restraint of a bookseller and his wife. Its 
principal writers are independent of each other, uncon- 
nected with booksellers, and unawed by old women ! " 

This literary vassalage, however, did not last long. 
The bookseller became more and more exacting. He 
accused his hack writer of idleness ; of abandoning his 
writing-desk and literary workshop at an early hour of 
the day ; and of assuming a tone and manner above his 
situation. Goldsmith, in return, charged him with imper- 
tinence ; his wife, with meanness and parsimony in her 
household treatment of him, and both of literary med- 
dling and marring. The engagement was broken off at 
the end of five months, by mutual consent, and without 
any violent rupture, as it will be found they afterwards 
had occasional dealings with each other. 

Though Goldsmith was now nearly thirty years of age, 
he had produced nothing to give him a decided reputa- 



104 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 



tion. He was as yet a mere writer for bread. The arti- 
cles he had contributed to the " Keview " were anony- 
mous, and were never avowed by him. They have since 
been, for the most part, ascertained ; and though thrown 
off hastily, often treating on subjects of temporary inter- 
est, and marred by the Griffith interpolations, they are 
still characterized by his sound, easy good sense, and the 
genial graces of his style. Johnson observed that Gold- 
smith's genius flowered late ; he should have said it 
flowered early, but was late in bringing its fruit to ma- 
turity. 



CHAPTEK VIH. 



NEWBERT, OF PICTURE-BOOK MEMORY. —HOW TO KEEP UP APPEARANCES.- 
MISERIES OF AUTHORSHIP. — A POOR RELATION. — LETTER TO HODSON. 




EING now known in the publishing world, 
Goldsmith began to find casual employment in 
various quarters; among others he wrote occa- 
sionally for the " Literary Magazine," a production set 
on foot by Mr. John Newbery, bookseller, St. Paul's 
Churchyard, renowned in nursery literature throughout 
the latter half of the last century for his picture-books 
for children. Newbery was a worthy, intelligent, kind- 
hearted man, and a seasonable, though cautious friend to 
authors, relieving them with small loans when in pecu- 
niary difficulties, though always taking care to be well 
repaid by the labor of their pens. Goldsmith introduces 
him in a humorous yet friendly manner in his novel of 
the "Vicar of Wakefield." "This person was no other 
than the philanthropic bookseller in St. Paul's Church- 
yard, who has written so many little books for children ; 
he called himself their friend; but he was the friend of 
all mankind. He was no sooner alighted but he was in 
haste to be gone ; for he was ever on business of im- 

105 



106 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

portance, and was at that time actually compiling ma- 
terials for the history of one Mr. Thomas Trip. I imme- 
diately recollected this good-natured man's red-pimpled 
face." 

Besides his literary job-work, Goldsmith also resumed 
his medical practice, but with very trifling success. The 
scantiness of his purse still obliged him to live in ob- 
scure lodgings somewhere in the vicinity of Salisbury 
Square, Fleet Street; but his extended acquaintance and 
rising importance caused him to consult appearances. 
He adopted an expedient, then very common, and still 
practised in London among those who have to tread the 
narrow path between pride and poverty : while he bur- 
rowed in lodgings suited to his means, he "hailed," as 
it is termed, from the Temple Exchange Coffee-House 
near Temple Bar. Here he received his medical calls; 
hence he dated his letters ; and here he passed much of 
his leisure hours, conversing with the frequenters of the 
place. " Thirty pounds a year," said a poor Irish paint- 
er, who understood the art of shifting, " is enough to en- 
able a man to live in London without being contempti- 
ble. Ten pounds will find him in clothes and linen; he 
can live in a garret on eighteen pence a week; hail from 
a coffee-house, where, by occasionally spending three- 
pence, he may pass some hours each day in good com- 
pany ; he may breakfast on bread and milk for a penny ; 
dine for sixpence ; do without supper ; and on clean-shirt' 
day he may go abroad and pay visits." 



MISERIES OF AUTHORSHIP. 107 

Goldsmith seems to have taken a leaf from this pooi 
devil's manual in respect to the coffee-house at least. In- 
deed, coffee-houses in those days were the resorts of wits 
and literati ; where the topics of the day were gossiped 
over, and the affairs of literature and the drama dis- 
cussed and criticised. In this way he enlarged the circle 
of his intimacy, which now embraced several names of 
notoriety. 

Do we want a picture of Goldsmith's experience in this 
part of his career ? we have it in his observations on the 
life of an author in the "Inquiry into the State of Polite 
Learning" published some years afterwards. 

" The author, unpatronized by the great, has naturally 
recourse to the bookseller. There cannot, perhaps, be 
imagined a combination more prejudicial to taste than 
this. It is the interest of the one to allow as little for 
writing, and for the other to write as much as possible ; 
accordingly, tedious compilations and periodical maga- 
zines are the result of their joint endeavors. In these 
circumstances the author bids adieu to fame ; writes for 
bread ; and for that only imagination is seldom called in. 
He sits down to address the venal Muse with the most 
phlegmatic apathy ; and, as we are told of the Russian, 
courts his mistress by falling asleep in her lap." 

Again. " Those who are unacquainted with the world 
are apt to fancy the man of wit as leading a very agree- 
able life. They conclude, perhaps, that he is attended 
with silent, admiration, and dictates to the rest of man- 



IQg OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

kind with all the eloquence of conscious superiority. 
Very different is his present situation. He is called an 
author, and all know that an author is a thing only to be 
laughed at. His person, not his jest, becomes the mirth 
of the company. At his approach the most fat, unthink- 
ing face brightens into malicious meaning. Even alder- 
men laugh, and avenge on him the ridicule which was 

lavished on their forefathers The poet's poverty 

is a standing topic of contempt. His writing for bread 
is an unpardonable offence. Perhaps of all mankind, an 
author in these times is used most hardly. We keep 
him poor, and yet revile his poverty. We reproach him 
for living by his wit, and yet allow him no other means 
to live. His taking refuge in garrets and cellars has of 
late been violently objected to him, and that by men who, 
I have hope, are more apt to pity than insult his dis- 
tress. Is poverty a careless fault? No doubt he knows 
how to prefer a bottle of champagne to the nectar of the 
neighboring ale-house, or a venison pasty to a plate of 
potatoes. Want of delicacy is not in him, but in those 
who deny him the opportunity of making an elegant 
choice. Wit certainly is the property of those who have 
it, nor should we be displeased if it is the only property 
a man sometimes has. We must not underrate him who 
uses it for subsistence, and flees from the ingratitude of 
the age, even to a bookseller for redress." .... 

" If the author be necessary among us, let us treat him 
with proper consideration as a child of the public, not as 



A POOR RELATION. 109 

a rent-charge on the community. And indeed a child of 
the public he is in all respects ; for while so well able to 
direct others, how incapable is he frequently found of 
guiding himself. His simplicity exposes him to all the 
insidious approaches of cunning : his sensibility, to the 
slightest invasions of contempt. Though possessed of 
fortitude to stand unmoved the expected bursts of an 
earthquake, yet of feelings so exquisitely poignant, as to 
agonize under the slightest disappointment. Broken rest, 
tasteless meals, and causeless anxieties shorten life and 
render it unfit for active employments ; prolonged vigils 
and intense applications still farther contract his span, 
and make his time glide insensibly away." 

While poor Goldsmith was thus struggling with the 
difficulties and discouragements which in those days be- 
set the path of an author, his friends in Ireland received 
accounts of his literary success and of the distinguished 
acquaintances he was making. This was enough to put 
the wise heads at Lissoy and Bally mahon in a ferment of 
conjectures. With the exaggerated notions of provincial 
relatives concerning the family great man in the metro- 
polis, some of Goldsmith's poor kindred pictured him to 
themselves seated in high places, clothed in purple and 
fine linen, and hand and glove with the givers of gifts and 
dispensers of patronage. Accordingly, he was one day sur- 
prised at the sudden apparition, in his miserable lodging, 
of his younger brother Charles, a raw youth of twenty- 
one, endowed with a double share of the family heed- 



HO OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

lessness, and who expected to be forthwith helped into 
some snug by-path to fortune by one or other of Oliver's 
great friends. Charles was sadly disconcerted on learn- 
ing that, so far from being able to provide for others, his 
brother could scarcely take care of himself. He looked 
round with a rueful eye on the poet's quarters, and could 
not help expressing his surprise and disappointment at 
finding him no better off. "All in good time, my dear 
boy," replied poor Goldsmith, with infinite good-humor ; 
"I shall be richer by-and-by. Addison, let me tell you, 
wrote his poem of the ' Campaign ' in a garret in the Hay- 
market, three stories high, and you see I am not come to 
that yet, for I have only got to the second story." 

Charles Goldsmith did not remain long to embarrass 
his brother in London. With the same roving disposi- 
tion and inconsiderate temper of Oliver, he suddenly 
departed in an humble capacity to seek his fortune in 
the West Indies, and nothing was heard of him for. above 
thirty years, when, after having been given up as dead by 
his friends, he made his reappearance in England. 

Shortly after his departure, Goldsmith wrote a letter 
to his brother-in-law, Daniel Hodson, Esq., of which the 
following is an extract ; it was partly intended, no doubt, 
to dissipate any further illusions concerning his fortunes 
which might float on the magnificent imagination of his 
friends in Ballymahon. 

"I suppose you desire to know my present situation. 
As there is nothing in it at which I should blush or 






LETTER TO HOBSON. HI 

which mankind could censure, I see no reason for mak- 
ing it a secret. In short, by a very little practice as a 
physician, and a very little reputation as a poet, I make 
a shift to live. Nothing is more apt to introduce us to 
the gates of the Muses than poverty ; but it were well if 
they only left us at the door. The mischief is, they 
sometimes choose to give US' their company to the enter- 
tainment ; and want, instead of being gentleman-usher, 
often turns master of the ceremonies. 

" Thus, upon learning I write, no doubt you imagine I 
starve ; and the name of an author naturally reminds you 
of a garret. In this particular I do not think proper to 
undeceive my friends. But, whether I eat or starve, live 
in a first floor or four pairs of stairs high, I still remem- 
ber them with ardor ; nay, my very country comes in for 
a share of my affection. Unaccountable fondness for 
country, this maladie du pais, as the French call it! Un- 
accountable that he should still have an affection for a 
place, who never, when in it, received above common 
civility ; who never brought anything out of it except his 
brogue and his blunders. Surely my affection is equally 
ridiculous with the Scotchman's, who refused to be cured 
of the itch because it ma"de him unco' thoughtful of his 
wife and bonny Inverary. 

" But, now, to be serious : let me ask myself what gives 
me a wish to see Ireland again. The country is a fine 
one, perhaps? No. There are goocl company in Ire- 
land? No. The conversation there is generally made 



112 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

up of a smutty toast or a bawdy song ; the vivacity sup- 
ported by some humble cousin, who had just folly enough 
to earn his dinner. Then, perhaps, there's more wit and 
learning among the Irish ? Oh, Lord, no ! There has 
been more money spent in the encouragement of the Pa- 
dareen mare there one season, than given in rewards to 
learned men since the time of Usher. All their produc- 
tions in learning amount to perhaps a translation, or a 
few tracts in divinity ; and all their productions in wit to 
just nothing at all. Why the plague, then, so fond of 
Ireland ? Then, all at once, because you, my dear friend, 
and a few more who are exceptions to the general pic- 
ture, have a residence there. This it is that gives me all 
the pangs I feel in separation. I confess I carry this 
spirit sometimes to the souring the pleasures I at pres- 
ent possess. If I go to the opera, where Signora Coluin- 
ba pours out all the mazes of melody, I sit and sigli for 
Lissoy fireside, and Johnny Armstrong's ' Last Good- 
night ' from Peggy Golden. If I climb Hampstead Hill, 
than where nature never exhibited a more magnificent 
prospect, I confess it fine ; but then I had rather be 
placed on the little mount before Lissoy gate, and there 
take in, to me, the most pleasing horizon in nature. 

" Before Charles came hither, my thoughts sometimes 
found refuge from severer studies among my friends in 
Ireland. I fancied strange revolutions at home ; but I 
find it was the rapidity of my own motion that gave an 
imaginary one to objects really at rest. No alterations 



DETERMINA TIOJV TO VISIT IRELAND. H3 

there. Some friends, he tells me, are still lean, but very 
rich ; others very fat, but still very poor. Nay, all the 
news I hear of you is, that you sally out in visits among 
the neighbors, and sometimes make a migration from the 
blue bed to the brown. I could from my heart wish that 
you and she (Mrs. Hodson), and Lissoy and Ballymahon, 
and all of you, would fairly make a migration into Mid- 
dlesex ; though, upon second thoughts, this might be 
attended with a few inconveniences. Therefore, as the 
mountain will not come to Mohammed, why Mohammed 
shall go to the mountain; or, to speak plain English, as 
you cannot conveniently pay me a visit, if next summer 
I can contrive to be absent six weeks from London, I 
shall spend three of them among my friends in Ireland. 
But first, believe me, my design is purely to visit, and 
neither to cut a figure nor levy contributions ; neither to 
excite envy nor solicit favor; in fact, my circumstances 
are adapted to neither. I am too poor to be gazed at, and 
too rich to need assistance." 
8 



CHAPTEK IX. 



HACKNEY AUTHORSHIP.— THOUGHTS OF LITERARY SUICIDE. — RETURN TO PECK 
HAM.— ORIENTAL PROJECTS. — LITERARY ENTERPRISE TO RAISE FUNDS. 
— LETTER TO EDWARD WELLS ; TO ROBERT BRYANTON. — DEATH OF UNCLE 
CONTARINE. — LETTER TO COUSIN JANE. 




OR some time Goldsmith continued to write 
miscellaneously for reviews and other periodi- 
cal publications, but without making any de- 
cided hit, to use a technical term. Indeed as yet he 
appeared destitute of the strong excitement of literary 
ambition, and wrote only on the spur of necessity and at 
the urgent importunity of his bookseller. His indolent 
and truant disposition, ever averse from labor and de- 
lighting in holiday, had to be scourged up to its task ; 
still it was this very truant disposition which threw an 
unconscious charm over everything he wrote ; bringing 
with it honeyed thoughts and pictured images which had 
sprung up in his mind in the sunny hours of idleness : 
these effusions, dashed off on compulsion in the exigency 
of the moment, were published anonymously ; so that 
they made no collective impression on the public, and 
reflected no fame on the name of their author. 

In an essay published some time subsequently in the 

114 



ORIENTAL PROJECTS. 115 

"Bee," Goldsmith adverts in his own humorous way to 
his impatience at the tardiness with which his desultory 
and unacknowledged essays crept into notice. " I was 
once induced," says he, " to show my indignation against 
the public by discontinuing my efforts to please ; and was 
bravely resolved, like Ealeigh, to vex them by burning 
my manuscripts in a passion. Upon reflection, however, 
I considered what set or body of people would be dis- 
pleased at my rashness. The sun, after so sad an acci- 
dent, might shine next morning as bright as usual ; men 
might laugh and sing the next day, and transact business 
as before ; and not a single creature feel any regret but 
myself. Instead of having Apollo in mourning or the 
Muses in a fit of the spleen ; instead of having the 
learned world apostrophizing at my untimely decease ; 
perhaps all Grub Street might laugh at my fate, and self- 
approving dignity be unable to shield me from ridicule." 

Circumstances occurred about this time to give a new 
direction to Goldsmith's hopes and schemes. Having 
resumed for a brief period the superintendence of tta 
Peckham school, during a fit of illness of Dr. Milner, 
that gentleman, in requital for his timely services, pro- 
mised to use his influence with a friend, an East-India 
director, to procure him a medical appointment in India. 

There was every reason to believe that the influence of 
Dr. Milner would be effectual ; but how was Goldsmith 
to find the ways and means of fitting himself out for a 
voyage to the Indies ? In this emergency he was driven 



116 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

to a more extended exercise of the pen than he had yet 
attempted. His skirmishing among books as a reviewer, 
and his disputatious ramble among the schools and uni- 
versities and literati of the Continent, had filled his mind 
with facts and observations which he now set about di- 
gesting into a treatise of some magnitude, to be entitled 
" An Inquiry into the Present State of Polite Learning 
in Europe." As the work grew on his hands, his san- 
guine temper ran ahead of his labors. Feeling secure of 
success in England, he was anxious to forestall the piracy 
of the Irish press ; for as yet, the union not having, taken 
place, the English law of copyright did not extend to the 
other side of the Irish channel. He wrote, therefore, 
to his friends in Ireland, urging them to circulate his 
proposals for his contemplated work, and obtain sub- 
scriptions payable in advance ; the money to be trans- 
mitted to a Mr. Bradley, an eminent bookseller in Dub- 
lin, who would give a receipt for it and be accountable 
for the delivery of the books. The letters written by 
him on this occasion are worthy of copious citation as 
being full of character and interest. One was to his rela- 
tive and college intimate, Edward Wells, who had studied 
for the bar, but was now living at ease on his estate at 
Eoscommon. "You have quitted," writes Goldsmith, 
" the plan of life which you once intended to pursue, and 
given up ambition for domestic tranquillity. I cannot 
avoid feeling some regret that one of my few friends has 
declined a pursuit in which he had every reason to ex- 



LETTER TO EDWARD WELLES. 117 

pect success. I have often let my fancy loose when you 
were the subject, and have imagined you gracing the 
bench, or thundering at the bar : while I have taken no 
small pride to myself, and whispered to all that I could 
come near, that this was my cousin. Instead of this, it 
seems, you are merely contented to be a happy man; to 
be esteemed by your acquaintances ; to cultivate your 
paternal acres ; to take unmolested a nap under one of 
your own hawthorns, or in Mrs. Wells's bedchamber, 
which, even a poet must confess, is rather the more com- 
fortable place of the two. But, however your resolutions 
may be altered with regard to your situation in life, I 
persuade myself they are unalterable with respect to 
your friends in it. I cannot think the world has taken 
such entire possession of that heart (once so susceptible 
of friendship) as not to have left a corner there for a 
friend or two, but I flatter myself that even I have a 
place among the number. This I have a claim to from 
the similitude of our dispositions ; or setting that aside, 
I can demand it as a right by the most equitable law of 
nature : I mean that of retaliation ; for indeed you have 
more than your share in mine. I am a man of few pro- 
fessions ; and yet at this very instant I cannot avoid the 
painful apprehension that my present professions (which 
speak not half my feelings) should be considered only as 
a pretext to cover a request, as I have a request to make. 
No, my dear Ned, I know you are too generous to think 
so, and you know me too proud to stoop to unnecessary 



t 18 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

insincerity ; — I have a request, it is true, to make ; but 
as I know to whom I am a petitioner, I make it without 
diffidence or confusion. It is in short this : I am going 
to publish a book in London," &c. The residue of the 
letter specifies the nature of the request, which was 
merely to aid in circulating his proposals and obtaining 
subscriptions. The letter of the poor author, however, 
was unattended to and unacknowledged by the prosper- 
ous Mr. Wells, of Roscommon, though in after-years he 
was proud to claim relationship to Dr. Goldsmith, when 
he had risen to celebrity. 

Another of Goldsmith's letters was to Robert Bryanton, 
with whom he had long ceased to be in correspondence. 
"I believe," writes he, "that they who are drunk, or out 
of their wits, fancy everybody else in the same condition. 
Mine is a friendship that neither distance nor time can 
efface, which is probably the reason that, for the soul of 
me, I can't avoid thinking yours of the same complexion ; 
and yet I have many reasons for being of a contrary 
opinion, else why, in so long an absence, was I never 
made a partner in your concerns ? To hear of your suc- 
cess would have given me the utmost pleasure ; and a com- 
munication of your very disappointments would divide 
the uneasiness I too frequently feel for my own. Indeed, 
my dear Bob, you don't conceive how unkindly you have 
treated one whose circumstances afford him few prospects 
of pleasure, except those reflected from the happiness of 
his friends. However, since you have not let me hear 






LETTER TO ROBERT BRYAN TON. H9 

from you, I have in some measure disappointed your 
neglect by frequently thinking of you. Every day or so 
I remember the calm anecdotes of your life, from the 
fireside to the easy-chair ; recall the various adventures 
that first cemented our friendship ; the school, the col- 
lege, or the tavern ; preside in fancy over your cards ; 
and am displeased at your bad play when the rubber goes 
against you, though not with all that agony of soul as 
when I was once your partner. Is it not strange that two 
of such like affections should be so much separated, and 
so differently employed as we are ? You seem placed at 
the centre of fortune's wheel, and, let it revolve ever so 
fast, are insensible of the motion. I seem to have been 
tied to the circumference, and whirled disagreeably 
round, as if on a whirligig." 

He then runs into a whimsical and extravagant tirade 
about his future prospects, the wonderful career of 
fame and fortune that awaits him, and after indulging in 
all kinds of humorous gasconades, concludes : " Let me, 
then, stop my fancy to take a. view of my future self, — 
and, as the boys say, light down to see myself on horse- 
back. Well, now that I am down, where the d— 1 is I? 
Oh gods ! gods ! here in a garret, writing for bread, and 
Bxpecting to be dunned for a milk score ! " 

He would, on this occasion, have doubtless written to 
his uncle Contarine, but that generous friend was sunk 
into a helpless hopeless state from which death soon 
released him. 



|20 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

Cut off thus from the kind cooperation of his uncle, he 
addresses a letter to his daughter Jane, the companion of 
his school-boy and happy days, now the wife of Mr. Law- 
der. The object was to secure her interest with her hus- 
band in promoting the circulation of his proposals. The 
letter is full of character. 

"If you should ask," he begins, "why, in an interval 
of so many years, you never heard from me, permit me, 
madam, to ask the same question. I have the best ex- 
cuse in recrimination. I wrote to Kilmore from Ley den 
in Holland, from Louvain in Flanders, and Rouen in 
France, but received no answer. To what could I at- 
tribute this silence but to displeasure or forgetfulness ? 
Whether I was right in my conjecture I do not pretend 
to determine ; but this I must ingenuously own, that I 
have a thousand times in my turn endeavored to forget 
tJiem, whom I could not but look upon as forgetting me. 
I have attempted to blot their names from my memory, 
and, I confess it, spent whole days in efforts to tear their 
image from my heart. Could I have succeeded, you had 
not now been troubled with this renewal of a discon- 
tinued correspondence ; but, as every effort the restless 
make to procure sleep serves but to keep them waking, 
all my attempts contributed to impress what I would for- 
get deeper on my imagination. But this subject I would 
willingly turn from, and yet, ' for the soul of me,' I can't 
till I have said all. I was, madam, when I discontinued 
writing to Kilmore, in such circumstances, that all my 



LETTER TO COUSIN JANE. 121 

endeavors to continue jour regards might be attributed 
to wrong motives. Mj letters might be looked upon as 
the petitions of a beggar, and not the offerings of a 
friend ; while all mj professions, instead of being con- 
sidered of the result of disinterested esteem, might be 
ascribed to venal insincerity. I believe, indeed, you had 
too much generosit j to place them in such a light, but I 
could not bear even the shadow of such a suspicion. The 
most delicate friendships are always most sensible of the 
slightest invasion, and the strongest jealousy is ever 
attendant on the warmest regard. I could not — I own I 
could not — continue a correspondence in which everj 
acknowledgment for past favors might be considered as 
an indirect request for future ones ; and where it might 
be thought I gave my heart from a motive of gratitude 
alone, when I was conscious of having bestowed it on 
much more disinterested principles. It is true, this con- 
duct might have been simple enough ; but yourself must 
confess it was in character. Those who know me at all, 
know that I have always been actuated by different prin- 
ciples from the rest of mankind : and while none re- 
garded the interest of his friend more, no man on earth 
regarded his own less. I have often affected bluntness 
to avoid the imputation of flattery ; have frequently 
seemed to overlook those merits too obvious to escape 
notice, and pretended disregard to those instances of 
good nature and good sense, which I could not fail tacitly 
to applaud ; and all this lest I should be ranked among 



122 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

the grinning tribe, who say ' very true ' to all that is 
said ; who fill a vacant chair at a tea-table ; whose nar- 
row souls never moved in a wider circle than the circum- 
ference of a guinea ; and who had rather be reckoning 
the money in your pocket than the virtue in your breast. 
All this, I say, I have done, and a thousand other very 
silly, though very disinterested, things in my time ; and 

for all which no soul cares a farthing about me 

Is it to be wondered that he should once in his life for- 
get you, who has been all his life forgetting himself? 
However, it is probable you may one of these days see 
me turned into a perfect hunks, and as dark and intricate 
as a mouse-hole. I have already given my landlady or- 
ders for an entire reform in the state of my finances. I 
declaim against hot suppers, drink less sugar in my tea, 
and check my grate with brickbats. Instead of hanging 
my room with pictures, I intend to adorn it with maxims 
of frugality. Those will make pretty furniture enough, 
and won't be a bit too expensive ; for I will draw them 
all out with my own hands, and my landlady's daughter 
shall frame them with the parings of my black waistcoat. 
Each maxim is to be inscribed on a sheet of clean paper, 
and wrote with my best pen ; of which the following will 
serve as a specimen. Look sharp: Mind the main chance: 
Money is money now: If you have a thousand pounds you 
can put your lands by your sides, and say you are worth a 
thousand pounds every day of the year: Take a farthing 
from a hundred and, it will be a hundred no longer. Thus, 



DESIRE FOB RICHES. 123 

which way soever I turn my eyes, they are sure to meet 
one of those friendly monitors ; and as we are told of an 
actor who hung his room round with looking-glass to 
correct the defects of his person, my apartment shall be 
furnished in a peculiar manner, to correct the errors of 
my mind. Faith ! madam, I heartily wish to be rich, if 
it were only for this reason, to say without a blush how 
much I esteem you. But, alas ! I have many a fatigue 
to encounter before that happy time comes, when your 
poor old simple friend may again give a loose to the 
luxuriance of his nature ; sitting by Kilmore fireside, 
recount the various adventures of a hard-fought life ; 
laugh over the follies of the day ; join his flute to your 
harpsichord ; and forget that ever he starved in those 
streets where Butler and Otway starved before him. 
And now I mention those great names — my Uncle ! he 
is no more that soul of fire as when I once knew him. 
Newton and Swift grew dim with age as well as he. But 
what shall I say ? His mind was too active an inhabitant 
not to disorder the feeble mansion of its abode ; for the 
richest jewels soonest wear their settings. Yet, who but 
the fool would lament his condition! He now forgets 
the calamities of life. Perhaps indulgent Heaven has 
given him a foretaste of that tranquillity here, which he 
so well deserves hereafter. But I must come to busi- 
ness ; for business, as one of my maxims tells me, must 
be minded or lost. I am agoing to publish in London a 
book entitled ' The Present State of Taste and Literature 



124 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

in Europe. 9 The booksellers in Ireland republish every 
performance there without making the author any con- 
sideration. I would, in this respect, disappoint their 
avarice, and have all the profits of my labor to mysel£ 
I must, therefore, request Mr. Lawder to circulate among 
his friends and acquaintances a hundred of my proposals, 
which I have given the bookseller, Mr. Bradley, in Dame 
Street, directions to send to him. If, in pursuance of 
such circulation, he should receive any subscriptions, I 
entreat, when collected, they may be sent to Mr. Brad- 
ley, as aforesaid, who will give a receipt, and be account- 
able for the work, or a return of the subscription. If 
this request (which, if it be complied with, will in some 
measure be an encouragement to a man of learning) 
should be disagreeable or troublesome, I would not press 
it ; for I would be the last man on earth to have my 
labors go a-begging ; but if I know Mr. Lawder (and sure 
I ought to know him), he will accept the employment 
with pleasure. All I can say — if he writes a book, I will 
get him two hundred subscribers, and those of the best 
wits in Europe. Whether this request is complied with 
or not, I shall not be uneasy ; but there is one petition I 
must make to him and to you, which I solicit with the 
warmest ardor, and in which I cannot bear a refusal. I 
mean, dear madam, that I may be allowed to subscribe 
myself, your ever affectionate and obliged kinsman, 
Oliver Goldsmith. Now see how I blot and blunder, 
when I am asking a favor." 




CHAPTER X. 

ORIENTAL APPOINTMENT ; AND DISAPPOINTMENT.— EXAMINATION AT THE COL- 
LEGE OF SURGEONS.— HOW TO PROCURE A SUIT OF CLOTHES.— FRESH DIS- 
APPOINTMENT.— A TALE OF DISTRESS.— THE SUIT OF CLOTHES IN PAWN.— 
PUNISHMENT FOR DOING AN ACT OF CHARITY.— GAYETIES OF GREEN AR- 
BOR COURT.— LETTER TO HIS BROTHER.— LIFE OF VOLTAIRE.— SCROGGINS, 
AN ATTEMPT AT MOCK-HEROIC POETRY. 

|HILE Goldsmith was yet laboring at his trea- 
tise, the promise made him by Dr. Milner was 
carried into effect, and he was actually ap- 
pointed physician and surgeon to one of the factories on 
the coast of Coromandel. His imagination was imme- 
diately on fire with visions of Oriental wealth and mag- 
nificence. It is true the salary did not exceed one hun- 
dred pounds, but then, as appointed physician, he would 
have the exclusive practice of the place, amounting to 
one thousand pounds per annum ; with advantages to be 
derived from trade and from the high interest of money 
— twenty per cent. ; in a word, for once in his life, the 
road to fortune lay broad and straight before him. 

Hitherto, in his correspondence with his friends, he 
had said nothing of his India scheme ; but now he im- 
parted to them his brilliant prospects, urging the impor- 

125 



126 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

tance of their circulating his proposals and obtaining 
him subscriptions and advances on his forthcoming work, 
to furnish funds for his outfit. 

In the meantime he had to task that poor drudge, his 
Muse, for present exigencies. Ten pounds were de- 
manded for his appointment-warrant. Other expenses 
pressed hard upon him. Fortunately, though as yet un- 
known to fame, his literary capability was known to "the 
trade," and the coinage of his brain passed current in 
Grub Street. Archibald Hamilton, proprietor of the 
" Critical Review," the rival to that of Griffiths, readily 
made him a small advance on receiving three articles for 
his periodical. His purse thus slenderly replenished, 
Goldsmith paid for his warrant ; wiped off the score of 
his milkmaid; abandoned his garret, and moved into a 
shabby first floor in a forlorn court near the Old Bailey ; 
there to await the time of his migration to the magnifi- 
cent coast of Cor oman del. 

Alas ! poor Goldsmith ! ever doomed to disappoint- 
ment. Early in the gloomy month of November, that 
month of fog and despondency in London, he learnt the 
shipwreck of his hope. The great Coromandel enter- 
prise fell through ; or rather the post promised him was 
transferred to some other candidate. The cause of this 
disappointment it is now impossible to ascertain. The 
death of his quasi patron, Dr. Milner, which happened 
about this time, may have had some effect in producing 
it ; or there may have been some heedlessness and blun- 



EXAMINATION AT THE COLLEGE OF SURGEONS. 127 

der on his own part ; or some obstacle arising from his 
insuperable indigence ; — whatever may have been the 
cause, he never mentioned it, which gives some ground to 
surmise that he himself was to blame. His friends learnt 
with surprise that he had suddenly relinquished his ap- 
pointment to India, about which he had raised such san- 
guine expectations : some accused him of fickleness and 
caprice ; others supposed him unwilling to tear himself 
from the growing fascinations of the literary society of 
London. 

In the meantime, cut down in his hopes, and humi- 
liated in his pride by the failure of his Coromandel 
scheme, he sought, without consulting his friends, to be 
examined at the College of Physicians for the humble 
situation of hospital mate. Even here poverty stood in 
his way. It was necessary to appear in a decent garb 
before the examining committee ; but how was he to do 
so? He was literally out at elbows as well as out of 
cash. Here again the Muse, so often jilted and neglected 
by him, came to his aid. In consideration of four arti- 
cles furnished to the "Monthly Review," Griffiths, his 
old task-master, was to become his security to the tailor 
for a suit of clothes. Goldsmith said he wanted them 
but for a single occasion, upon which depended his ap- 
pointment to a situation in the army; as soon as that 
temporary purpose was served they would either be re- 
turned or paid for. The books to be reviewed were ac- 
cordingly lent to him ; the Muse was again set to her 



128 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

compulsory drudgery ; the articles were scribbled off 
and sent to the bookseller, and the clothes came in due 
time from the tailor. 

From the records of the College of Surgeons, it appears 
that Goldsmith underwent his examination at Surgeons' 
Hall, on the 21st of December, 1758. Either from a con- 
fusion of mind incident to sensitive and imaginative per- 
sons on such occasions, or from a real want of surgical 
science, which last is extremely probable, he failed in his 
examination, and was rejected as unqualified. The effect 
of such a rejection was to disqualify him for every branch 
of public service, though he might have claimed a reex- 
amination, after the interval of a few months devoted to 
further study. Such a reexamination he never attempted, 
nor did he ever communicate his discomfiture to any of 
his friends. 

On Christmas-day, but four days after his rejection by 
the College of Surgeons, while he was suffering under 
the mortification of defeat and disappointment, and hard 
pressed for means of subsistence, he was surprised by 
the entrance into his room of the poor woman of whom 
he hired his wretched apartment, and to whom he owed 
some small arrears of rent. She had a piteous tale of 
distress, and was clamorous in her afflictions. Her hus- 
band had been arrested in the night for debt, and thrown 
into prison. This was too much for the quick feelings of 
Goldsmith ; he was ready at any time to help the dis- 
tressed, but in this instance he was himself in some meas- 



SUIT OF CLOTHES IN PAWN. 129 

ure a cause of the distress. What was to be done? He 
had no money, it is true ; but there hung the new suit of 
clothes in which he had stood his unlucky examination 
at Surgeons' Hall. Without giving himself time for re- 
flection, he sent it off to the pawnbroker's, and raised 
thereon a sufficient sum to pay off his own debt, and to 
release his landlord from prison. 

Under the same pressure of penury and despondency, 
he borrowed from a neighbor a pittance to relieve his 
immediate wants, leaving as a security the books which 
he had recently reviewed. In the midst of these straits 
and harassments, he received a letter from Griffiths, de- 
manding, in peremptory terms, the return of the clothes 
and books, or immediate payment for the same. It ap- 
pears that he had discovered the identical suit at the 
pawnbroker's. The reply of Goldsmith is not known; it 
was out of his power to furnish either the clothes or 
the money ; but he probably offered once more to make 
the Muse stand his bail. His reply only increased the 
ire of the wealthy man of trade, and drew from him an- 
other letter still more harsh than the first; using the 
epithets of knave and sharper, and containing threats of 
prosecution and a prison. 

The following letter from poor Goldsmith gives the 
most touching picture of an inconsiderate but sensitive 
man, harassed by care, stung by humiliations, and driven 
almost to despondency. 
9 



130 OLIVER GOLDSMITH 

" Sik, — I know of no misery but a jail to which my own 
imprudences and your letter seem to point. I have seen 
it inevitable these three or four weeks, and, by heavens ! 
request it as a favor — as a favor that may prevent some- 
thing more fatal. I have been some years struggling 
with a wretched being — with all that contempt that in- 
digence brings with it — with all those passions which 
make contempt insupportable. Wliat, then, has a jail 
that is formidable ? I shall at least have the society of 
wretches, and such is to me true society. I tell you, 
again and again, that I am neither able nor willing to 
pay you a farthing, but I will be punctual to any appoint- 
ment you or the tailor shall make ; thus far, at least, I 
do not act the sharper, since, unable to pay my own 
debts one way, I would generally give some security 
another. No, sir; had I been a sharper — had I been 
possessed of less good-nature and native generosity, I 
might surely now have been in better circumstances. 

" I am guilty, I own, of meannesses which poverty 
unavoidably brings with it : my reflections are filled with 
repentance for my imprudence, but not with any remorse 
for being a villain : that may be a character you unjustly 
charge me with. Your books, I can assure you, are 
neither pawned nor sold, but in the custody of a friend, 
from whom my necessities obliged me to borrow some 
money : whatever becomes of my person, you shall have 
them in a month. It is very possible both the reports you 
heard and your own suggestions may have brought you 



ADJUSTMENT OF DISPUTE. 131 

false information with respect to my character ; it is very 
possible that the man whom you now regard with detesta- 
tion may inwardly burn with grateful resentment. It is 
very possible that, upon a second perusal of the letter I 
sent you, you may see the workings of a mind strongly 
agitated with gratitude and jealousy. If such circum- 
stances should appear, at least spare invective till my 
book with Mr. Dodsley shall be published, and then, per- 
haps, you may see the bright side of a mind, when my 
professions shall not appear the dictates of necessity, but 
of choice. 

" You seem to think Dr. Milner knew me not. Perhaps 
so ; but he was a man I shall ever honor ; but I have 
friendships only with the dead ! I ask pardon for taking 
up so much time ; nor shall I add to it by any other pro- 
fessions than that I am, sir, your humble servant, 

" Oliver Goldsmith. 

" P. S. — I shall expect impatiently the result of your 
Resolutions." 

The dispute between the poet and the publisher was 
afterward imperfectly adjusted, and it would appear that 
the clothes were paid for by a short compilation adver- 
tised by Griffiths in the course of the following month ; 
but the parties were never really friends afterward, and 
the writings of Goldsmith were harshly and unjustly 
treated in the " Monthly Keview." 

We have given the preceding anecdote in detail, as 



132 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

furnishing one of the many instances in which Gold- 
smith's prompt and benevolent impulses outran all pru- 
dent forecast, and involved him in difficulties and dis- 
graces which a more selfish man would have avoided. 
The pawning of the clothes, charged upon him as a crime 
by the grinding bookseller, and apparently admitted by 
him as one of " the meannesses which poverty unavoid- 
ably brings with it," resulted, as we have shown, from a 
tenderness of heart and generosity of hand, in which 
another man would have gloried ; but these were such 
natural elements with him, that he was unconscious of 
their merit. It is .a pity that wealth does not oftener 
bring such " meannesses " in its train. 

And now let us be indulged in a few particulars about 
these lodgings in which Goldsmith was guilty of this 
thoughtless act of benevolence. They were in a very 
shabby house, No. 12 Green Arbor Court, between the 
Old Bailey and Fleet Market. An old woman was still 
living in 1820 who was a relative of the identical land- 
lady whom Goldsmith relieved by the money received 
from the pawnbroker. She was a child about seven 
years of age at the time that the poet rented his apart- 
ment of her relative, and used frequently to be at the 
house in Green Arbor Court. She was drawn there, in a 
great measure, by the good-humored kindness of Gold- 
smith, who was always exceedingly fond of the society of 
children. H3 used to assemble those of the family in his 
room, give them cakes and sweetmeats, and set them 



GREEN ARBOR COURT. 133 

dancing to the sound of his Ante. He was very friendly 
to those around him, and cultivated a kind of intimacy 
with a watchmaker in the Court, who possessed much 
native wit and humor. He passed most of the day, how- 
ever, in his room, and only went out in the evenings, 
His days were no doubt devoted to the drudgery of the 
pen, and it would appear that he occasionally found the 
booksellers urgent task-masters. On one occasion a visi- 
tor was shown up to his room, and immediately their 
voices were heard in high altercation, and the key was 
turned within the lock. The landlady, at first, was dis- 
posed to go to the assistance of her lodger ; but a calm 
succeeding, she forbore to interfere. 

Late in the evening the door was unlocked ; a supper 
ordered by the visitor from a neighboring tavern, and 
Goldsmith and his intrusive guest finished the evening in 
great good-humor. It was probably his eld task-master 
Griffiths, whose press might have been waiting, and who 
found no other mode of getting a stipulated task from 
Goldsmith than by locking him in, and staying by him 
until it was finished. 

But we have a more particular account of these lodg- 
ings in Green Arbor Court from the Rev. Thomas Percy, 
afterward Bishop of Dromore, and celebrated for his 
relics of ancient poetry, his beautiful ballads, and other 
works. During an occasional visit to London, he was 
introduced to Goldsmith by Grainger, and ever after con- 
tinued one of his most steadfast and valued friends. The 



134 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

following is liis description of the poet's squalid apart- 
ment: "I called on Goldsmith at his lodgings in March, 
1759, and found him writing his ' Inquiry,' in a miser- 
able, dirty-looking room, in which there was but one 
chair ; and when, from civility, he resignc d it to me, he 
himself was obliged to sit in the window. While we 
were conversing together, some one tapped gently at the 
door, and, being desired to come in, a poor ragged little 
girl, of a very becoming demeanor, entered the room, 
and, dropping a courtesy, said, ' My mamma sends her 
compliments, and begs the favor of you to lend her a 
chamber-pot full of coals. 5 " 

We are reminded in this anecdote of Goldsmith's pic- 
ture of the lodgings of Beau Tibbs, and of the peep into 
the secrets of a make-shift establishment given to a vis- 
itor by the blundering old Scotch woman. 

" By this time we were arrived as high as the stairs 
would permit us to ascend, till we came to what he was 
facetiously pleased to call the first floor down the chim- 
ney ; and, knocking at the door, a voice from within de- 
manded ' Who's there ? ' My conductor answered that it 
was him. But this not satisfying the querist, the voice 
again repeated the demand, to which he answered louder 
than before ; and now the door was opened by an old 
woman with cautious reluctance. 

" When we got in, he welcomed me to his house with 
great ceremony; and, turning to the old woman, asked 
where was her lady. ' Good troth,' replied she, in a pe- 



BEAU T1BBS. 135 

Miliar dialect, 'she's washing your twa shirts at the next 
door, because they have taken an oath against lending 
the tub any longer.' ' My two shirts,' cried he, in a tone 
that faltered with confusion ; ' what does the idiot 
mean?' 'I ken what I mean weel enough,' replied the 
other ; ' she's washing your twa shirts at the next door, 
because ' — ' Fire and fury ! no more of thy stupid ex- 
planations,' cried he; 'go and inform her we have com- 
pany. Were that Scotch hag to be for ever in my family, 
she would never learn politeness, nor forget that absurd 
poisonous accent of hers, or testify the smallest specimen 
of breeding or high life ; and yet it is very surprising too, 
as I had her from a Parliament man, a friend of mine 
from the Highlands, one of the politest men in the world ; 
but that's a secret.'"* 

Let us linger a little in Green Arbor Court, a place 
consecrated by the genius and the poverty of Goldsmith, 
but recently obliterated in the course of modern im- 
provements. The writer of this memoir visited it not 
many years since on a literary pilgrimage, and may be 
excused for repeating a description of it which he has 
heretofore inserted in another publication. " It then ex- 
isted in its pristine state, and was a small square of 
tall and miserable houses, the very intestines of which 
seemed turned inside out, to judge from the old garments 
and frippery that fluttered from every window. It ap- 

* Citizen of the World, letter iv. 



136 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

peared to be a region of washerwomen, and lines were 
stretched about the little square, on which clothes were 
dangling to dry. 

"Just as we entered the square, a scuffle took place 
between two viragoes about a disputed right to a wash- 
tub, and immediately the whole community was in a 
hubbub. Heads in mob-caps popped out of every win- 
dow, and such a clamor of tongues ensued that I was 
fain to stop my ears. Every amazon took part with one 
or other of the disputants, and brandished her arms, 
dripping with soapsuds, and fired away from her window 
as from the embrasure of a fortress ; while the screams 
of children nestled and cradled in every procreant cham- 
ber of this hive, waking with the noise, set up their shrill 
pipes to swell the general concert." * 

While in these forlorn quarters, suffering under ex- 
treme depression of spirits, caused by his failure at Sur- 
geons' Hall, the disappointment of his hopes, and his 
harsh collisions with Griffiths, Goldsmith wrote the fol- 
lowing letter to his brother Henry, some parts of which 
are most touchingly mournful. 

" Dear Sir, — 

" Your punctuality in answering a man whose trade is 
writing, is more than I had reason to expect ; and yet 
you see me generally fill a whole sheet, which is all the 

* Tales of a Traveller. 



LETTER TO HIS BROTHER. 137 

recompense I can make for being so frequently trouble- 
some. The behavior of Mr. Mills and Mr. Lawder is a 
little extraordinary. However, their answering neither 
you nor me is a sufficient indication of their disliking the 
employment which I assigned them. As their conduct is 
different from what I had expected, so I have made an 
alteration in mine. I shall, the beginning of next month, 
send over two hundred and fifty books,* which are all 
that I fancy can be well sold among you, and I would 
have you make some distinction in the persons who have 
subscribed. The money, which will amount to sixty 
pounds, may be left with Mr. Bradley as soon as possi- 
ble. I am not certain but I shall quickly have occasion 
for it. 

"I have met with no disappointment with respect to 
my East India voyage, nor are my resolutions altered ; 
though, at the same time, I must confess, it gives me 
some pain to think I am almost beginning the world at 
.the age of thirty-one. Though I never had a day's sick- 
ness since I saw you, yet I am not that strong, active 
man you once knew me. You scarcely can conceive how 
much eight years of disappointment, anguish, and study 
have worn me down. If I remember right, you are seven 
or eight years older than me, yet I dare venture to say, 
that, if a stranger saw us both, he would pay me the 
honors of seniority. Imagine to yourself a pale, melan- 

* The " Inquiry into Polite Literature." His previous remarks apply 
to the subscription. 



138 OLIVER GOLDSMITH 

choly visage, with two great wrinkles between the eye- 
brows, with an eye disgustingly severe, and a big wig, 
and you may have a perfect picture of my present ap- 
pearance. On the other hand, I conceive you as per- 
fectly sleek and healthy, passing many a hapjDy day 
among your own children, or those who knew you a child. 

"Since I knew what it was to be a man, this is a 
pleasure I have not known. I have passed my days 
among a parcel of cool, designing beings, and have con- 
tracted all their suspicious manner in my own behavior. 
I should actually be as unfit for the society of my friends 
at home, as I detest that which I am obliged to partake 
of here. I can now neither partake of the pleasure of a 
revel, nor contribute to raise its jollity. I can neither 
laugh nor drink ; have contracted a hesitating, disagree- 
able manner of speaking, and a visage that looks ill- 
nature itself ; in short, I have thought myself into a set- 
tled melancholy, and an utter disgust of all that life 
brings with it. Whence this romantic turn that all our 
family are possessed with ? Whence this love for every 
place and every country but that in which we reside — for 
every occupation but our own? this desire 'of fortune, 
and yet this eagerness to dissipate ? I perceive, my dear 
sir, that I am at intervals for indulging this splenetic 
manner, and following my own taste, regardless of yours. 

" The reasons you have given me for breeding up youi 
son a scholar are judicious and convincing; I should, 
however, be glad to know for what particular profes- 






A BOY'S EDUCATION. 139 

sion he is designed. If lie be assiduous and divested of 
strong passions (for passions in youth always lead to 
pleasure), he may do very well in your college ; for it 
must be owned that the industrious poor have good 
encouragement there, perhaps better than in any other in 
Europe. But if he has ambition, strong passions, and an 
exquisite sensibility of contempt, do not send him there, 
unless you have no other trade for him but your own. 
It is impossible to conceive how much may be done by 
proper education at home. A boy, for instance, who 
understands perfectly well Latin, French, arithmetic, and 
the principles of the civil law, and can write a fine hand, 
has an education that may qualify him for any undertak- 
ing ; and these parts of learning should be carefully in- 
culcated, let him be designed for whatever calling he 
will. 

" Above all things, let him never touch a romance or 
novel : these paint beauty in colors more charming than 
nature, and describe happiness that man never tastes. 
How delusive, how destructive are those pictures of con- 
summate bliss ! They teach the youthful mind to sigh 
after beauty and happiness that never existed ; to despise 
the little good which fortune has mixed 4n our cup, by 
expecting more than she ever gave ; and, in general, take 
the word of a man who has seen the world, and who has 
studied human nature more by experience than precept ; 
take my word for it, I say, that books teach us very little 
of the world. The greatest merit in a state of poverty 



140 OLIVER GOLDSMlTB. 

would only serve to make the possessor ridiculous — maj 
distress, but cannot relieve him. Frugality, and even 
avarice, in the lower orders of mankind, are true ambi- 
tion. These afford the only ladder for the poor to rise 
to preferment. Teach then, my dear sir, to your son, 
thrift and economy. Let his poor wandering uncle's ex- 
ample be placed before his eyes. I had learned from 
books to be disinterested and generous, before I was 
taught from experience the necessity of being prudent. 
I had contracted the habits and notions of a philosopher, 
while I was exposing myself to the approaches of in- 
sidious cunning ; and often by being, even with my nar- 
row finances, charitable to excess, I forgot the rules of 
justice, and placed myself in the very situation of the 
wretch who thanked me for my bounty. When I am in 
the remotest part of the world, tell him this, and perhaps 
he may improve from my example. But I find myself 
again falling into my gloomy habits of thinking. 

" My mother, I am informed, is almost blind ; even 
though I had the utmost inclination to return home, 
under such circumstances I could not, for to behold her 
in distress without a capacity of relieving her from it, 
would add much to my splenetic habit. Your last letter 
was much too short; it should have answered some 
queries I had made in my former. Just sit down as I 
do, and write forward until you have filled all your 
paper. It requires no thought, at least from the ease 
with which my own sentiments rise when they are ad- 






VOLTAIRE. 141 

dressed to you. For, believe me, my head has no share 
in all I write ; my heart dictates the whole. Pray give 
my love to Bob Bryanton, and entreat him from me not 
to drinkc My dear sir, give me some account about poor 
Jenny. * Yet her husband loves her : if so, she cannot 
be unhappy. 

" I know not whether I should tell you — yet why 
should I conceal these trifles, or, indeed, anything from 
you ? There is a book of mine will be published in a 
few days : the life of a very extraordinary man ; no less 
than the great Voltaire. You know already by the title 
that it is no more than a catchpenny. However, I spent 
but four weeks on the whole performance, for which I 
received twenty pounds. When published, I shall take 
some method of conveying it to you, unless you may 
think it dear of the postage, which may amount to four 
or five shillings. However, I fear you will not find an 
equivalent of amusement. 

"Your last letter, I repeat it, was too short; you 
should have given me your opinion of the design of the 
heroi-comical poem which I sent you. You remember 
I intended to introduce the hero of the poem as lying in 
a paltry ale-house. You may take the following speci* 
men of the manner, which I flatter myself is quite origi 
nal. The room in which he lies may be described some- 
what in this way : — 

* His sister, Mrs. Johnston ; her paarriage, like that of Mrs. Hodson, 
was private, but in pecuniary matters much less fortunate, 



Ii2 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

" * The window, patched with paper, lent a ray 
That feebly show'd the state in which he lay ; 
The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread, 
The humid wall with paltry pictures spread; 
The game of goose was there exposed to view, 
And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew; 
The Seasons, framed with listing, found a place, 
And Prussia's monarch show'd his lamp-black face. 
The morn was cold : he views with keen desire 
A rusty grate unconscious of a fire ; 
An unpaid reckoning on the frieze was scored, 
And five crack'd tea-cups dress'd the chimney-board.' 

" And now imagine, after his soliloquy the landlord tc 
make his appearance in order to dun him for the reckon- 
ing:— 

" ' Not with that face, so servile and so gay, 
That welcomes every stranger that can pay: 
With sulky eye he smoked the patient man, 
Then puiPd his breeches tight, and thus began,' &c* 

" All this is taken, you see, from nature. It is a good 
remark of Montaigne's, that the wisest men often have 
friends with whom they do not care how much they play 
the fool. Take my present follies as instances of my 
regard. Poetry is a much easier and more agreeable 
species of composition than prose ; and, could a man live 
by it, it were not unpleasant employment to be a poet. 
I am resolved to leave no space, though I should fill it 
up only by telling you, what you very well know al- 

* The projected poem, of which the above were specimens, appears 
never to have been completed. 






NED PURDON, 143 

ready, I mean that I am your most affectionate friend 

and bj other, 

"Oliver Goldsmith." 

Tho " Life of Voltaire," alluded to in the latter part 
of the preceding letter, was the literary job undertaken 
to s?t ; sfy the demands of Griffiths. It was to have pre- 
ceded a translation of the " Henriade," by Ned Purdon, 
Goldsmith's old schoolmate, now a Grub-Street writer, 
who starved rather than lived by the exercise of his pen, 
arid often tasked Goldsmith's scanty means to relieve his 
hunger. His miserable career was summed up by our 
poet in the following lines written some years after the 
time we are treating of, on hearing that he had suddenly 
dropped dead in Smithfield : — 

" Here lies poor Ned Purdon, from misery freed, 
Who long was a bookseller's hack : 
He led such a damnable life in this world, 
I don't think he'll wish to come back." 

The memoir and translation, though advertised to form 
a volume, were not published together, but appeared 
separately in a magazine. 

, As to the heroi-comical poem, also, cited in the fore- 
going letter, it appears to have perished in embryo. Had 
it been brought to maturity, we should have had further 
traits of autobiography ; the room already described was 
probably his own squalid quarters, in Green Arbor Court ; 



144 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

and in a subsequent morsel of the poem we have the 
poet himself, under the euphonious name of Scroggin : — 

" Where the Red Lion peering o'er the way, 
Invites each passing stranger that can pay ; 
Where Calvert's butt and Parson's black champagne 
Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury Lane : 
There, in a lonely room, from bailiffs snug, 
The muse found Scroggin stretch'd beneath a rug ; 
A nightcap deck'd his brows instead of bay, 
A cap by night, a stocking all the day ! " 

It is to be regretted that this poetical conception was 
not carried out ; like the author's other writings, it might 
have abounded with pictures of life and touches of nature 
drawn from his own observation and experience, and 
mellowed by his own humane and tolerant spirit ; and 
might have been a worthy companion or rather contrast 
to his "Traveller" and "Deserted Village," and have 
remained in the language a first-rate specimen of the 
mock-heroic. 




CHAPTEE XI. 

PUBLICATION OF " THE INQUIRY. "-ATTACK BY GRIFFITHS' REVIEW. -KENRICK 
THE LITERARY ISHMAELITE.— PERIODICAL LITERATURE.— GOLDSMITH'S ES- 
SAYS.— GARRICK AS A MANAGER.-SMOLLETT AND HIS SCHEMES.-CHANGE OF 
LODGINGS.— THE ROBIN HOOD CLUB. 

|OWARDS the end of March, 1759, the treatise 
on which Goldsmith had laid so much stress, 
on which he at one time had calculated to de- 
fray the expenses of his outfit to India, and to which he 
had adverted in his correspondence with Griffiths, made 
its appearance. It was published by the Dodsleys, and 
entitled "An Inquiry into the Present State of Polite 
Learning in Europe." 

In the present day, when the whole field of contem- 
porary literature is so widely surveyed and amply dis- 
cussed, and when the current productions of every coun- 
try are constantly collated and ably criticised, a treatise 
like that of Goldsmith would be considered as extremely 
limited and unsatisfactory ; but at that time it possessed 
novelty in its views and wideness in its scope, and being 
imbued with the peculiar charm of style inseparable from 
the author, it commanded public attention and a profita- 
10 l* 5 



146 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

ble sale. As it was the most important production that 
had yet come from Goldsmith's pen, he was anxious to 
have the credit of it ; yet it appeared without his name 
on the title-page. The authorship, however, was well 
known throughout the world of letters, and the author 
had now grown into sufficient literary importance to be- 
come an object of hostility to the underlings of the press. 
One of the most virulent attacks upon him was in a criti- 
cism on this treatise, and appeared in the " Monthly 
Keview " to which he himself had been recently a con- 
tributor, It slandered him as a man while it decried 
him as an author, and accused him, by innuendo, of " la- 
boring under the infamy of having, by the vilest and 
meanest actions, forfeited all pretensions to honor and 
honesty," and of practising " those acts which bring the 
sharper to the cart's tail or the pillory." 

It will be remembered that the Review was owned by 
Griffiths the bookseller, with whom Goldsmith had re- 
cently had a misunderstanding. The criticism, therefore, 
was no doubt dictated by the lingerings of resentment , 
and the imputations upon Goldsmith's character for 
honor and honesty, and the vile and mean actions hinted 
at, could only allude to the unfortunate pawning of the 
clothes. All this, too, was after Griffiths had received 
the affecting letter from Goldsmith, drawing a picture of 
his poverty and perplexities, and after the latter had 
made him a literary compensation. Griffiths, in fact, was 
sensible of the falsehood and extravagance of the attack, 



A LITERARY ISHMAELITE. 147 

and tried to exonerate himself by declaring that the criti- 
cism was written by a person in his employ ; but we see 
no difference in atrocity between him who wields the 
knife and him who hires the cut-throat. It may be well, 
however, in passing, to bestow our mite of notoriety upon 
the miscreant who launched the slander. He deserves it 
for a long course of dastardly and venomous attacks, not 
merely upon Goldsmith, but upon most of the successful 
authors of the day. His name was Kenrick. He was 
originally a mechanic, but possessing some degree of 
talent and industry, applied himself to literature as a 
profession. This he pursued for many years, and tried 
his hand in every department of prose and poetry ; he 
wrote plays and satires, philosophical tracts, critical dis- 
sertations, and works on philology ; nothing from his pen 
ever rose to first-rate excellence, or gained him a popular 
name, though he received from some university the de- 
gree of Doctor of Laws. Dr. Johnson characterized his 
literary career in one short sentence. " Sir, he is one of 
the many who have made themselves public without mak- 
ing themselves knoivn." 

Soured by his own want of success, jealous of the suc- 
cess of others, his natural irritability of temper increased 
by habits of intemperance, he at length abandoned him- 
self to the practice of reviewing, and became one of the 
Ishmaelites of the press. In this his malignant bitter- 
ness soon gave him a notoriety which his talents had 
never been able to attain. We shall dismiss him for th& 



148 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

present with the following sketch of him by the hand of 
one of his contemporaries : — 

"Dreaming of genius which he never had, 
Half wit, half fool, half critic, and half mad; 
Seizing, like Shirley, on the poet's lyre, 
With all his rage, but not one spark of fire ; 
Eager for slaughter, and resolved to tear 
From other's brows that wreath he must not wear — > 
Next Kenrick came : all furious and replete 
With brandy, malice, pertness, and conceit; 
UnskilPd in classic lore, through envy blind 
To all that's beauteous, learned, or refined: 
For faults alone behold the savage prowl, 
With reason's offal glut his ravening soul ; 
Pleased with his prey, its inmost blood he drinks, 
And mumbles, paws, and turns it — till it stinks." 

The British press about this time was extravagantly 
fruitful of periodical publications. That " oldest inhabi- 
tant," the " Gentleman's Magazine," almost coeval with 
St. John's gate which graced its title-page, had long been 
elbowed by magazines and reviews of all kinds : John- 
son's " Rambler " had introduced the fashion of periodi- 
cal essays, which he had followed up in his "Adven- 
turer " and " Idler." Imitations had sprung up on every 
side, under every variety of name ; until British litera- 
ture was entirely overrun by a weedy and transient efflo- 
rescence. Many of these rival periodicals choked each 
other almost at the outset, and few of them have escaped 
oblivion. 



GARRICK AS A MANAGER. 149 

Goldsmith wrote for some of the most successful, such 
as the " Bee," the " Busy-body," and the " Lady's Maga- 
zine." His essays, though characterized by his delight- 
ful style, his pure, benevolent morality, and his mellow, 
unobtrusive humor, did not produce equal effect at first 
with more garish writings of infinitely less value ; they 
did not " strike," as it is termed ; but they had that rare 
and enduring merit which rises in estimation on every 
perusal. They gradually stole upon the heart of the 
public, were copied into numerous contemporary publi- 
cations, and now they are garnered up among the choice 
productions of British literature. 

In his " Inquiry into the State of Polite Learning," 
Goldsmith had given offence to David Garrick, at that 
time autocrat of the Drama, and was doomed to experi- 
ence its effect. A clamor had been raised against Gar- 
rick for exercising a despotism over the stage, and bring- 
ing forward nothing but old plays to the exclusion of 
original productions. Walpole joined in this charge. 
" Garrick," said he, " is treating the town as it deserves 
and likes to be treated, — with scenes, fire-works, and his 
own writings. A good new play I never expect to see 
more ; nor have seen since the ' Provoked Husband,' 
which came out when I was at school." Goldsmith, who 
was extremely fond of the theatre, and felt the evils of 
this system, inveighed in his treatise against the wrongs 
experienced by authors at the hands of managers. " Our 
poet's performance," said he, " must undergo a process 



150 OLIVER GOLDSMITH, 

truly chemical before it is presented to the public. It 
must be tried in the manager's fire ; strained through a 
licenser, suffer from repeated corrections, till it may be a 
mere caput mortuum when it arrives before the public." 
Again, — " Getting a play on even in three or four years is 
a privilege reserved only for the happy few who have the 
arts of courting the manager as well as the Muse ; who 
have adulation to please his vanity, powerful patrons to 
support their merit, or money to indemnify disappoint- 
ment. Our Saxon ancestors had but one name for a wit 
and a witch. I will not dispute the propriety of uniting 
those characters then ; but the man who under present 
discouragements ventures to write for the stage, what- 
ever claim he may have to the appellation of a wit, at 
least has no right to be called a conjurer." But a pas- 
sage which perhaps touched more sensibly than all the 
rest on the sensibilities of Garrick, was the following : — 

" I have no particular spleen against the fellow who 
sweeps the stage with the besom, or the hero who 
brushes it with his train. It were a matter of indiffer- 
ence to me, whether our heroines are in keeping, or our 
candle-snuffers burn their fingers, did not such make a 
great j)art of public care and polite conversation. Our 
actors assume all that state off the stage which they do 
on it; and, to use an expression borrowed from the 
green-room, every one is up in his part. I am sorry to 
say it, they seem to forget their real characters." 

These strictures were considered by Garrick as in- 



THE BRITISH MAGAZINE. 151 

tended for himself, and they were rankling in his mind 
when Goldsmith waited upon him and solicited his vote 
for the vacant secretaryship of the Society of Arts, of 
which the manager was a member. Garrick, puffed up 
by his dramatic renown and his intimacy with the great, 
and knowing Goldsmith only by his budding reputation, 
may not have considered him of sufficient importance to 
be conciliated. In reply to his solicitations, he observed 
that he could hardly expect his friendly exertions after 
the unprovoked attack he had made upon his manage- 
ment. Goldsmith replied that he had indulged in no 
personalities, and had only spoken what he believed to 
be the truth. He made no further apology nor applica- 
tion ; failed to get the appointment, and considered Gar- 
rick his enemy. In the second edition of his treatise he 
expunged or modified the passages which had given the 
manager offence ; but though the author and actor be- 
came intimate in after years, this false step at the outset 
of their intercourse was never forgotten. 

About this time Goldsmith engaged with Dr. Smollett, 
who was about to launch the " British Magazine." Smol- 
lett was a complete schemer and speculator in literature, 
and intent upon enterprises that had money rather than 
reputation in view. Goldsmith has a good-humored hit 
at this propensity in one of his papers in the "Bee," in 
which he represents Johnson, Hume, and others taking 
seats in the stage-coach bound for Fame, while Smollett 
prefers that destined for Eiches. 



152 OLIVER GOLDSMITB. 

Another prominent employer of Goldsmith was Mr 
John JSewbery, who engaged him to contribute occasion- 
al essays to a newspaper entitled the " Public Ledger," 
which made its first appearance on the 12th of Janu- 
ary, 1760. His most valuable and characteristic con- 
tributions to this paper were his "Chinese Letters," 
subsequently modified into the "Citizen of the World." 
These lucubrations attracted general attention; they 
were reprinted in the various periodical publications of 
the day, and met with great applause. The name of the 
author, however, was as yet but little known. 

Being now easier in circumstances, and in the receipt 
of frequent sums from the booksellers, Goldsmith, about 
the middle of 1760, emerged from his dismal abode in 
Green Arbor Court, and took respectable apartments in 
Wine-Office Court, Fleet Street. 

Still he continued to look back with considerate benev- 
olence to the poor hostess, whose necessities he had re- 
lieved by pawning his gala coat, for we are told that " he 
often supplied her with food from his own table, and 
visited her frequently with the sole purpose to be kind 
to her." 

He now became a member of a debating club, called 
the Bobin Hood, which used to meet near Temple Bar, 
and in which Burke, while yet a Temple student, had 
first tried his powers. Goldsmith spoke here occasion- 
ally, and is recorded in the Bobin Hood archives as "a 
candid disputant with a clear head and an honest heart, 



SAMUEL DERRICK. 153 

though coming but seldom to the society." His relish 
was for clubs of a more social, jovial nature, and he was 
never fond of argument. An amusing anecdote is told 
of his first introduction to the club, by Samuel Derrick, 
an Irish acquaintance of some humor. On entering, 
Goldsmith was struck with the self-important ajDpear- 
ance of the chairman ensconced in a large gilt chair. 
" This," said he, " must be the Lord Chancellor at least." 
" No, no," replied Derrick, " he's only master of the 
rolls." — The chairman was a baker. 



CHAPTEE XII 



HEW LODGINGS. — VISITS OF CEREMONY.— HANGERS-CN.— PILKINGTON AND THE 
"A'HITE MOUSE. — INTRODUCTION TO DR. JOHNSON. — DAVIES AND HIS BOOK- 
SHOP. — PRETTY MRS. DA VIES. — FOOTE AND HIS PROJECTS. — CRITICISM OF 
THE CUDGEL. 




N his new lodgings in Wine-Office Court, Gold- 
smith began to receive visits of ceremony, and 
to entertain his literary friends. Among the 
latter he now numbered several names of note, such as 
Guthrie, Murphy, Christopher Smart, and Bickerstaff. 
He had also a numerous class of hangers-on, the small 
fry of literature ; who, knowing his almost utter incapac- 
ity to refuse a pecuniary request, were apt, now that he 
was considered flush, to levy continual taxes upon his 
purse. 

Among others, one Pilkington, an old college acquaint- 
ance, but now a shifting adventurer, duped him in the 
most ludicrous manner. He called on him with a face 
full of perplexity. A lady of the first rank having an 
extraordinary fancy for curious animals, for which she 
was willing to give enormous sums, he had procured a 
couple of white mice to be forwarded to her from India. 
They were actually on board of a ship in the river. Hei 

154 



THE WHITE MOUSE. 155 

grace had been apprised of their arrival, and was all 
impatience to see them. Unfortunately, he had no cage 
to put them in, nor clothes to appear in before a lady of 
her rank. Two guineas would be sufficient for his pur- 
pose, but where were two guineas to be procured ! 

The simple heart of Goldsmith was touched ; but, alas ! 
he had but half a guinea in his pocket. It was unfortu- 
nate, but, after a pause, his friend suggested, with some 
hesitation, "that money might be raised upon his watch : 
it would but be the loan of a few hours." So said, so 
done ; the watch was delivered to the worthy Mr. Pilking- 
ton to be pledged at a neighboring pawnbroker's, but 
nothing farther was ever seen of him, the watch, or the 
white mice. The next that Goldsmith heard of the poor 
shifting scapegrace, he was on his death-bed, starving 
with want, upon which, forgetting or forgiving the trick 
he had played upon him, he sent him a guinea. Indeed 
he used often to relate with great humor the foregoing 
anecdote of his credulity, and was ultimately in some 
degree indemnified by its suggesting to him the amusing 
little story of Prince Bonbennin and the White Mouse 
in the " Citizen of the Wcrld." 

In this year Goldsmith became personally acquainted 
with Dr. Johnson, toward whom he was drawn by strong 
sympathies, though their natures were widely different. 
Both had struggled from early life with poverty, but had 
struggled in different ways. Goldsmith, buoyant, heed- 
less, sanguine, tolerant of evils, and easily pleased, had 



156 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

shifted along by any temporary expadient ; cast down 
at every turn, but rising again with indomitable good- 
humor, and still carried forward by his talent at hoping. 
Johnson, melancholy, and hypochondriacal, and prone to 
apprehend the worst, yet sternly resolute to battle with 
and conquer it, had made his way doggedly and gloomily, 
but with a noble principle of self-reliance and a disregard 
of foreign aid. Both had been irregular at college : 
Goldsmith, as we have shown, from the levity of his na- 
ture and his social and convivial habits ; Johnson, from 
his acerbity and gloom. When, in after-life, the latter 
heard himself spoken of as gay and frolicsome at college, 
because he had joined in some riotous excesses there, 
" Ah, sir ! " replied he, " I was mad and violent. It was 
bitterness which they mistook for frolic. / was miserably 
poor, and I thought to fight my way by my literature and my 
wit. So I disregarded all power and all authority." 

Goldsmith's poverty was never accompanied by bitter- 
ness ; but neither was it accompanied by the guardian 
pride which kept Johnson from falling into the degrading 
shifts of poverty. Goldsmith had an unfortunate facility 
at borrowing, and helping himself along by the contri- 
butions of his friends ; no doubt trusting, in his hopeful 
way, of one day making retribution. Johnson never 
hoped, and therefore never borrowed. In his sternest 
trials he proudly bore the ills he could not master. ' In 
his youth, when some unknown friend, seeing his shoes 
completely worn out, left a new pair at his chamber- 



PECUNIARY STRAITS. 15/ 

door, he disdained to accept the boon, and threw them 
away. 

Though like Goldsmith an immethoclical student, he 
had imbibed deeper draughts of knowledge, and made 
himself a riper scholar. While Goldsmith's happy con- 
stitution and genial humors carried him abroad into sun- 
shine and enjoyment, Johnson's physical infirmities and 
mental gloom drove him upon himself ; to the resources 
of reading and meditation ; threw a deeper though darker 
enthusiasm into his mind, and stored a retentive memory 
with all kinds of knowledge. 

After several years of youth passed in the country as 
usher, teacher, and an occasional writer for the press, 
Johnson, when twenty-eight years of age, came up to 
London with a half- written tragedy in his pocket ; and 
David Garrick, late his pupil, and several years his 
junior, as a companion, both poor and penniless, — both, 
like Goldsmith, seeking their fortune in the metropolis. 
"We rode and tied," said Garrick sportively in after- 
years of prosperity, when he spoke of their humble way- 
faring. "I came to London," said Johnson, "with two- 
pence halfpenny in my pocket." — "Eh, what's that you 
say ? " cried Garrick, " with twopence halfpenny in your 
pocket?" "Why, yes : I came with twopence halfpenny 
in my pocket, and thou, Davy, with but three halfpence 
in thine." Nor was there much exaggeration in the 
picture ; for so poor were they in purse and credit, that 
after their arrival they had, with difficulty, raised five 



158 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

pounds, by giving their joint note to a bookseller in the 
Strand. 

Many, many years had Johnson gone on obscurely in 
London, " fighting his way by his literature and his wit ; " 
enduring all the hardships and miseries of a Grub-Street 
writer : so destitute at one time, that he and Savage the 
poet had walked all night about St. James's Square, both 
too poor to pay for a night's lodging, yet both full of poe- 
try and patriotism, and determined to stand by their 
country ; so shabby in dress at another time, that, when 
he dined at Cave's, his bookseller, when there was pros- 
perous company, he could not make his appearance at 
table, but had his dinner handed to him behind a screen. 

Yet through all the long and dreary struggle, often 
diseased in mind as well as in body, he had been reso- 
lutely self-dependent, and proudly self-respectful ; he had 
fulfilled his college vow, he had " fought his way by his 
literature and wit." His "Bambler" and "Idler" had 
made him the great moralist of the age, and his " Dic- 
tionary and History of the English Language," that stu- 
pendous monument of individual labor, had excited the 
admiration of the learned world. He was now at the 
head of intellectual society ; and had become as distin- 
guished by his conversational as his literary powers. 
He had become as much an autocrat in his sphere as his 
fellow-wayfarer and adventurer Garrick had become of 
the stage, and had been humorously dubbed by Smollett, 
" The Great Cham of Literature." 



DA VIES AND HIS BOOKSHOP. 159 

Such was Dr. Johnson, when on the 31st of May, 1761, 
he was to make his appearance as a guest at a literary 
supper given by Goldsmith to a numerous party at his 
new lodgings in Wine-Office Court. It was the opening 
of their acquaintance. Johnson had felt and acknowl- 
edged the merit of Goldsmith as an author, and been 
pleased by the honorable mention made of himself in the 
" Bee " and the Chinese Letters. Dr. Percy called upon 
Johnson to take him to Goldsmith's lodgings ; he found 
Johnson arrayed with unusual care in a new suit of 
clothes, a new hat, and a well-powdered wig ; and could 
not but notice his uncommon spruceness. " Why, sir," 
replied Johnson, " I hear that Goldsmith, who is a very 
great sloven, justifies his disregard of cleanliness and 
decency by quoting my practice, and I am desirous this 
night to show him a better example." 

■ The acquaintance thus commenced ripened into inti- 
macy in the course of frequent meetings in the shop of 
Davies, the bookseller, in Russell Street, Covent Garden. 
As this was one of the great literary gossiping-places of 
the day, especially to the circle over which Johnson pre- 
sided, it is worthy of some specification. Mr. Thomas 
Davies, noted in after-times as the biographer of Gar- 
rick, had originally been on the stage, and though a 
small man, had enacted tyrannical tragedy with a pomp 
and magniloquence beyond his size, if we may trust the 
description given of him by Churchill in the "Ros* 
ciad " :— 



160 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

"Statesman all over — in plots famous grown, 
He mouths a sentence as curs mouth a bone." 

This unlucky sentence is said to have crippled him in 
the midst of his tragic career, and ultimately to have 
driven him from the stage. He carried into the booksell- 
ing craft somewhat of the grandiose manner of the stage, 
and was prone to be mouthy and magniloquent. 

Churchill had intimated, that while on the stage he 
was more noted for his pretty wife than his good acting : 

" With him came mighty Davies ; on my life, 
That fellow has a very pretty wife." 

" Pretty Mrs. Davies " continued to be the load-star of 
his fortunes. Her tea-table became almost as much a 
literary lounge as her husband's shop. She found favor 
in the eyes of the Ursa Major of literature by her win- 
ning ways, as she poured out for him cups without stint 
of his favorite beverage. Indeed it is suggested that she 
was one leading cause of his habitual resort to this liter- 
ary haunt. Others were drawn thither for the sake of 
Johnson's conversation, and thus it became a resort of 
many of the notorieties of the day. Here might occa- 
sionally be seen Bennet Langton, George Steevens, Dr. 
Percy, celebrated for his ancient ballads, and sometimes 
Warburton in prelatic state. Garrick resorted to it for a 
time, but soon grew shy and suspicious, declaring that 
most of the authors who frequented Mr. Davies's shop 
went merely to abuse him. 



FOOTE AND HIS PROJECTS. 161 

i Foote, the Aristophanes of the day, was a frequent 

visitor ; his broad face beaming with fun and waggery, 
and his satirical eye ever on the lookout for characters 
and incidents for his farces. He was struck with the odd 
habits and appearance of Johnson and Goldsmith, now 
so often brought together in Davies's shop. He was 
about to put on the stage a farce called "The Orators," 
intended as a hit at the Eobin Hood debating-club, and 
resolved to show up the two doctors in it for the enter- 
tainment of the town. 

" What is the common price of an oak stick, sir ? " said 
Johnson to Davies. " Sixpence," was the reply. " Why 
then, sir, give me leave to send your servant to purchase 
a shilling one. I'll have a double quantity, for I am told 
Foote means to take me off as he calls it, and I am deter. 
mined the fellow shall not do it with impunity." 

Foote had no disposition to undergo the criticism of 
the cudgel wielded by such potent hands, so the farce of 
" The Orators " appeared without the caricatures of the 
lexicographer and the essayist. 
U 



CHAPTEK XIII. 



ORIENTAL PROJECTS. — LITERARY JOBS. — THE CHEROKEE CHIEFS. — MERRY IS 
LINGTON AND THE WHITE CONDUIT HOUSE.— LETTERS ON THE HISTORY 
OF ENGLAND. — JAMES BOS WELL. —DINNER OF DAVIES. — ANECDOTES OF 
JOHNSON AND GOLDSMITH. 



OTWITHSTAKDING his growing success, 
Goldsmith continued to consider literature a 
mere makeshift, and his vagrant imagination 
teemed with schemes and plans of a grand but indefinite 
nature. One was for visiting the East and exploring the 
interior of Asia. He had, as has been before observed, a 
vague notion that valuable discoveries were to be made 
there, and many useful inventions in the arts brought 
back to the stock of European knowledge. " Thus, in Si- 
berian Tartary," observed he, in one of his writings, "the 
natives extract a strong spirit from milk, which is a se- 
cret probably unknown to the chemists of Europe. In 
the most savage parts of India they are possessed of the 
secret of dyeing vegetable substances scarlet, and that of 
refining lead into a metal which, for hardness and color, 
is little inferior to silver." 

Goldsmith adds a description of the kind of person 

162 



LITERARY JOBS. 163 

suited to such an enterprise, in which he evidently had 
himself in view. 

" He should be a man of philosophical turn, one apt to 
deduce consequences of general utility from particular 
occurrences ; neither swoln with pride, nor hardened by 
prejudice ; neither wedded to one particular system, nor 
instructed only in one particular science ; neither wholly 
a botanist, nor quite an antiquarian ; his mind should be 
tinctured with miscellaneous knowledge, and his man- 
ners humanized by an intercourse with men. He should 
be in some measure an enthusiast- to the design ; fond 
of travelling, from a rapid imagination and an innate 
love of change ; furnished with a body capable of sus- 
taining every fatigue, and a heart not easily terrified at 
danger." 

In 1761, when Lord Bute became prime minister on 
the accession of George the Third, Goldsmith drew up 
a memorial on the subject, suggesting the advantages to 
be derived from a mission to those countries solely for 
useful and scientific purposes ; and, the better to insure 
success, he preceded his application to the government 
by an ingenious essay to the same effect in the " Public 
Ledger." 

His memorial and his essay were fruitless, his project 
most probably being deemed the dream of a visionary. 
Still it continued to haunt his mind, and he would often 
talk of making an expedition to Aleppo some time or 
other, when his means were greater, to inquire into the 



164 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

arts peculiar to the East, and to bring home such as 
might be valuable. Johnson, who knew how little poor 
Goldsmith was fitted by scientific lore for this favorite 
scheme of his fancy, scoffed at the project when it was 
mentioned to him. "Of all men," said he, "Goldsmith 
is the most unfit to go out upon such an inquiry, for he 
is utterly ignorant of such arts as we already possess, 
and, consequently, could not know what would be acces- 
sions to our present stock of mechanical knowledge. Sir, 
he would bring home a grinding-barrow, which you see 
in every street in London, and think that he had fur- 
nished a wonderful improvement." 

His connection with Newbery the bookseller now led 
him into a variety of temporary jobs, such as a pamphlet 
on the Cock-Lane Ghost, a Life of Beau Nash, the famous 
Master of Ceremonies at Bath, &c. : one of the best 
things for his fame, however, was the remodelling and 
republication of his Chinese Letters under the title ol 
" The Citizen of the World," a work which has long since 
taken its merited stand among the classics of the English 
language. " Few works," it has been observed by one of 
his biographers, "exhibit a nicer perception, or more 
delicate delineation of life and manners. Wit, humor, 
and sentiment pervade every page ; the vices and follies 
of the day are touched with the most playful and divert- 
ing satire ; and English characteristics, in endless variety, 
are hit off with the pencil of a master." 

In seeking materials for his varied views of life, he 



THE CHEROKEE CHIEFS. 165 

often mingled in strange scenes and got involved in 
whimsical situations. In the summer of 1762 he was one 
of the thousands who went to see the Cherokee chiefs, 
whom he mentions in one of his writings. The Indians 
made their appearance in grand costume, hideously 
painted and besmeared. In the course of the visit Gold- 
smith made one of the chiefs a present, who, in the ec- 
stasy of his gratitude, gave him an embrace that left his 
face well bedaubed with oil and red ochre. 

Towards the close of 1762 he removed to "merry 
Islington," then a country village, though now swallowed 
up in omnivorous London. He went there for the ben- 
efit of country air, his health being injured by literary 
application and confinement, and to be near his chief 
employer, Mr. Newbery, who resided in the Canonbury 
House. In this neighborhood he used to take his solitary 
rambles, sometimes extending his walks to the gardens of 
the " White Conduit House," so famous among the essay- 
ists of the last century. While strolling one day in these 
gardens, he met three females of the family of a respect- 
able tradesman to whom he was under some obligation. 
With his prompt disposition to oblige, he conducted 
them about the garden, treated them to tea, and ran 
up a bill in the most open-handed manner imaginable ; 
it was only when he came to pay that he found himself 
in one of his old dilemmas — he had not the wherewithal 
in his pocket. A scene of perplexity now took place be- 
tween him and the waiter, in the midst of which came 



166 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

uj) some of his acquaintances, in whose eyes he wished to 
stand particularly well. This completed his mortification. 
There was no concealing the awkwardness of his position. 
The sneers of the waiter revealed it. His acquaintances 
amused themselves for some time at his expense, profess- 
ing their inability to relieve him. When, however, they 
had enjoyed their banter, the waiter was paid, and poor 
Goldsmith enabled to convoy off the ladies with flying 
colors. 

Among the various productions thrown off by him for 
the booksellers during this growing period of his reputa- 
tion, was a small work in two volumes, entitled " The 
History of England, in a Series of Letters from a Noble- 
man to his Son." It was digested from Hume, Rapin, 
Carte, and Kennet. These authors he would read in the 
morning; make a few notes; ramble with a friend into 
the country about the skirts of " merry Islington " ; re- 
turn to a temperate dinner and cheerful evening ; and, 
bef jre going to bed, write off what had arranged itself in 
his head from the studies of the morning. In this way 
he took a more general view of the subject, and wrote in 
a more free and fluent style that if he had been mousing 
at the time among authorities. The work, like many 
others written by him in the earlier part of his literary 
career, was anonymous. Some attributed it to Lord 
Chesterfield, others to Lord Orrery, and others to Lord 
Lyttelton. The latter seemed pleased to be the putative 
father, and never disowned the bantling thus laid at his 



JAMES B08WELL. 167 

door ; and well might lie have been proud to be consid- 
ered capable of producing what has been well-pronounced 
" the most finished and elegant summary of English his- 
tory in the same compass that has been or is likely to be 
written." 

The reputation of Goldsmith, it will be perceived, grew 
slowly ; he w T as known and estimated by a few ; but he 
had not those brilliant though fallacious qualities which 
flash upon the public, and excite loud but transient ap- 
plause. His works were more read than cited ; and the 
charm of style, for which he was especially noted, was 
more apt to be felt than talked about. He used often to 
repine, in a half humorous, half querulous manner, at his 
tardiness in gaining the laurels which he felt to be his 
due. "The public," he would exclaim, "will never do 
me justice ; whenever I write anything, they make a point 
to know nothing about it." 

About the beginning of 1763 he became acquainted 
with Boswell, whose literary gossipings were destined to 
have a deleterious effect upon his reputation. Boswell 
was at that time a young man, light, buoyant, pushing, 
and presumptuous. He had a morbid passion for min- 
gling in the society of men noted for wit and learning, 
and had just arrived from Scotland, bent upon making 
his way into the literary circles of the metropolis. An 
intimacy with Dr. Johnson, the great literary luminary 
of the day, was the crowning object of his aspiring and 
somewhat ludicrous ambition. He expected to meet him 



168 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

at a dinner to which he was invited at Davies the book- 
seller's, but was disappointed. Goldsmith was present, 
but he was not as yet sufficiently renowned to excite the 
reverence of Boswell. "At this time," says he in his 
Notes, " I think he had published nothing with his 
name, though it was pretty generally understood, that 
one Dr. Goldsmith was the author of 'An Inquiry into 
the Present State of Polite Learning in Europe,' and of 
' The Citizen of the World,' a series of letters supposed 
to be written from London by a Chinese." 

A conversation took place at table between Goldsmith 
and Mr. Robert Dodsley, compiler of the well-known col- 
lection of modern poetry, as to the merits of the current 
poetry of the day. Goldsmith declared there was none 
of superior merit. Dodsley cited his own collection in 
proof of the contrary. " It is true," said he, " we can 
boast of no palaces nowadays, like Dry den's ' Ode to St. 
Cecilia's Day,' but we have villages composed of very 
pretty houses." Goldsmith, however, maintained that 
there was nothing above mediocrity, an opinion in which 
Johnson, to whom it was repeated, concurred, and with 
reason, for the era was one of the dead levels of British 
poetry. 

Boswell has made no note of this conversation ; he was 
an unitarian in his literary devotion, and disposed to 
worship none but Johnson. Little Davies endeavored to 
console him for his disappointment, and to stay the stom- 
ach of his curiosity, by giving him imitations of the great 



GOODNESS OF JOHNSON. 169 

lexicographer ; mouthing his words, rolling his head, 
and assuming as ponderous a manner as his petty person 
would permit. Boswell was shortly afterwards made hap- 
py by an introduction to Johnson, of whom he became 
the obsequious satellite. From him he likewise imbibed 
a more favorable opinion of Goldsmith's merits, though 
he was fain to consider them derived in a great measure 
from his Magnus Apollo. "He had sagacity enough," 
says he, " to cultivate assiduously the acquaintance of 
Johnson, and his faculties were gradually enlarged by 
the contemplation of such a model. To me and many 
others it appeared that he studiously copied the manner 
of Johnson, though, indeed, upon a smaller scale." So 
on another occasion he calls him " one of the brightest 
ornaments of the Johnsonian school." " His respectful 
attachment to Johnson," adds he, " was then at its 
height ; for his own literary reputation had not yet dis- 
tinguished him so much as to excite a vain desire of com- 
petition with his great master." 

What beautiful instances does the garrulous Boswell 
give of the goodness of heart of Johnson, and the passing 
homage to it by Goldsmith. They were speaking of a 
Mr. Levett, long an inmate of Johnson's house and a de- 
pendent on his bounty ; but who, Boswell thought, must 
be an irksome charge upon him. "He is poor and 
honest," said Goldsmith, "which is recommendation 
enough tc Johnson." 

Boswell mentioned another person of a very bad char- 



170 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

acter, and wondered at Johnson's kindness to him. " He 
is now become miserable," said Goldsmith, " and that in- 
sures the protection of Johnson." Encomiums like these 
speak almost as much for the heart of him who praises 
as of him who is praised. 

Subsequently, when Boswell had become more intense 
in his literary idolatry, he affected to undervalue Gold- 
smith, and a lurking hostility to him is discernible 
throughout his writings, which some have attributed to 
a silly spirit of jealousy of the superior esteem evinced 
for the poet by Dr. Johnson. We have a gleam of this 
in his account of the first evening he spent in company 
with those two eminent authors at their famous resort, 
the Mitre Tavern, in Fleet Street. This took place on 
the 1st of July, 1763. The trio supped together, and 
passed some time in literary conversation. On quitting 
the tavern, Johnson, who had now been sociably ac- 
quainted with Goldsmith for two years, and knew his 
merits, took him with him to drink tea with his blind 
pensioner, Miss Williams, — a high privilege among his 
intimates and admirers. To Boswell, a recent acquaint- 
ance, whose intrusive sycophancy had not yet made its 
way into his confidential intimacy, he gave no invitation. 
Boswell felt it with all the jealousy of a little mind. 
" Dr. Goldsmith," says he, in his Memoirs, " being a 
privileged man, went with him, strutting away, and call- 
ing to me with an air of superiority, like that of an 
esoteric over an exoteric disciple of a sage of antiquity, 



ESTIMATE OF BO SWELL. 171 

' I go to Miss Williams.' I confess I then envied him this 
mighty privilege, of which he seemed to be so proud ; 
but it was not long before I obtained the same mark of 
distinction." 

Obtained ! but how ? not like Goldsmith, by the force 
of unpretending but congenial merit, but by a course of 
the most pushing, contriving, and spaniel-like subser- 
viency. Keally, the ambition of the man to illustrate his 
mental insignificance, by continually placing himself in 
juxtaposition with the great lexicographer, has some- 
thing in it perfectly ludicrous. Never, since the days of 
Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, has there been pre- 
sented to the world a more whimsically contrasted pair 
of associates than Johnson and Boswell. 

"Who is this Scotch cur at Johnson's heels?" asked 
some one when Boswell had worked his way into inces- 
sant companionship. " He is not a cur," replied Gold- 
smith, " you are too severe ; he is only a bur. Tom 
Davie s flung him at Johnson in sport, and he has the 
faculty of sticking." 




CHAPTEK XIV. 

HOGARTH A VISITOR AT ISLINGTON ; HIS CHARACTER.— STREET STUDIES.— 
SYMPATHIES BETWEEN AUTHORS AND PAINTERS. — SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS , 
HIS CHARACTER ; HIS DINNERS. — THE LITERARY CLUB ; ITS MEMBERS. — 
JOHNSON'S REVELS WITH LANKY AND BEAU. — GOLDSMITH AT THE CLUB. 

AMONG the intimates who used to visit the poet 
occasionally in' his retreat at Islington, was 
Hogarth the painter. Goldsmith had spoken 
well of him in his essays in the " Public Ledger," and 
this formed the first link in their friendship. He was at 
this time upwards of sixty years of age, and is described 
as a stout, active, bustling little man, in a sky-blue coat 
satirical and dogmatic, yet full of real benevolence and 
the love of human nature. He was the moralist and phi- 
losopher of the pencil ; like Goldsmith he had sounded 
the depths of vice and misery, without being polluted by 
them ; and though his picturings had not the pervading 
amenity of those of the essayist, and dwelt more on the 
crimes and vices than the follies and humors of mankind, 
yet they were all calculated, in like manner, to fill the 
mind with instruction and precept, and to make the 
heart better. 

Hogarth does not appear to have had much of the 

172 



STREET STUDIES. 173 

rural feeling with which Goldsmith was so amply en- 
dowed, and may not have accompanied him in his strolls 
about hedges and green lanes ; but he was a fit compan- 
ion with whom to explore the mazes of London, in which 
he was continually on the lookout for character and inci- 
dent. One of Hogarth's admirers speaks of having come 
upon him in Castle Street, engaged in one of his street- 
studies, watching two boys who were quarrelling; pat- 
ting one on the back who flinched, and endeavoring to 
spirit him up to a fresh encounter. "At him again! 
D him, if I would take it of him ! At him again ! " 

A frail memorial of this intimacy between the painter 
and the poet exists in a portrait in oil, called " Gold- 
smith's Hostess." It is supposed to have been painted 
by Hogarth in the course of his visits to Islington, and 
given by him to the poet as a means of paying his land- 
lady. There are no friendships among men of talents 
more likely to be sincere than those between painters 
and poets. Possessed of the same qualities of mind, 
governed by the same principles of taste and natural 
laws of grace and beauty, but applying them to different 
yet mutually illustrative arts, they are constantly in sym- 
pathy, and never in collision with each other. 

A still more congenial intimacy of the kind was that 
contracted by Goldsmith with Mr. (afterwards Sir Joshua) 
Keynolds. The latter was now about forty years of age, 
a few years older than the poet, whom he charmed by 
the blandness and benignity of his manners, and the 



174 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

nobleness and generosity of his disposition, as much as 
he did by the graces of his pencil and the magic of his 
coloring. They were men of kindred genius, excelling in 
corresponding qualities of their several arts, for style in 
writing is what color is in painting ; both are innate en- 
dowments, and equally magical in their effects. Certain 
graces and harmonies of both may be acquired by dili- 
gent study and imitation, but only in a limited degree ; 
whereas by their natural possessors they are exercised 
spontaneously, almost unconsciously, and with ever-vary- 
ing fascination. Reynolds soon understood and appreci- 
ated the merits of Goldsmith, and a sincere and lasting 
friendship ensued between them. 

At Reynolds's house Goldsmith mingled in a higher 
range of company than h'e had been accustomed to. The 
fame of this celebrated artist, and his amenity of man- 
ners, were gathering round him men of talents of all 
kinds, and the increasing affluence of his circumstances 
enabled him to give full indulgence to his hospitable dis- 
position. Poor Goldsmith had not yet, like Dr. Johnson, 
acquired reputation enough to atone for his external de- 
fects and his want of the air of good society. Miss Rey- 
nolds used to inveigh against his personal appearance, 
which gave her the idea, she said, of a low mechanic, a 
journeyman tailor. One evening at a large suj)per-party, 
being called upon to give as a toast the ugliest man she 
knew, she gave Dr. Goldsmith, upon which a lady who 
sat opposite, and whom she had never met before, shook 



SIB JOSHUA REYNOLDS. 175 

hands with her across the table, and " hoped to become 
better acquainted." 

We have a graphic and amusing picture of Reynolds's 
hospitable but motley establishment, in an account given 
by a Mr. Courtenay to Sir James Mackintosh ; though it 
speaks of a time after Reynolds had received the honor 
of knighthood. "There was something singular," said 
he, " in the style and economy of Sir Joshua's table that 
contributed to pleasantry and good-humor, — a coarse, in- 
elegant plenty, without any regard to order and arrange- 
ment. At five o'clock precisely, dinner was served, 
whether all the invited guests had arrived or not. Sir 
Joshua was never so fashionably ill-bred as to wait an 
hour jDerhajDS for two or three persons of rank or title, 
and put the rest of the company out of humor by this 
invidious distinction. His invitations, however, did not 
regulate the number of his guests. Many dropped in 
uninvited. A table prepared for seven or eight was often 
compelled to contain fifteen or sixteen. There was a 
consequent deficiency of knives, forks, plates, and glasses. 
The attendance was in the same style, and those who 
were knowing in the ways of the house took care on sit- 
ting down to call instantly for beer, bread, or wine, that 
they might secure a supply before the first course was 
over. He was once prevailed on to furnish the table 
with decanters and glasses at dinner, to save time and 
prevent confusion. These gradually were demolished in 
the course of service ? and were never replaced, These 



176 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

trifling embarrassments, however, only serve to enhance 
the hilarity and singular pleasure of the entertainment. 
The wine, cookery, and dishes were but little attended 
to; nor was the fish or venison ever talked of or recom- 
mended. Amidst this convivial animated bustle among 
his guests, our host sat perfectly composed ; always at- 
tentive to what was said, never minding what was ate or 
drank, but left every one at perfect liberty to scramble 
for himself." 

Out of the casual but frequent meeting of men of talent 
at this hospitable board rose that association of wits, 
authors, scholars, and statesmen, renowned as the Liter- 
ary Club. Reynolds was the first to propose a regular 
association of the kind, and was eagerly seconded by 
Johnson, who proposed as a model a club which he had 
formed many years previously in Ivy -Lane, but which 
was now extinct. Like that club the number of members 
was limited to nine. They were to meet and sup together 
once a week, on Monday night, at the Turk's Head on 
Gerard Street, Soho, and two members were to constitute 
a meeting. It took a regular form in the year 1764, but 
did not receive its literary appellation until several years 
afterwards. 

The original members were Reynolds, Johnson, Burke, 
Dr. Nugent, Bennet Langton, Topham Beauclerc, Cha- 
mier, Hawkins, and Goldsmith ; and here a few words 
concerning some of the members may be acceptable. 
Burke was at that time about thirty-three years of age ; 



TEE LITERARY CLUB. 177 

he had mingled a little in politics and been Under-Secre- 
tary to Hamilton at Dublin, but was again a writer for the 
booksellers, and as yet but in the dawning of his fame. 
Dr. Nugent was his father-in-law, a Roman Catholic, and 
a physician of talent and instruction. Mr. (afterwards 
Sir John) Hawkins was admitted into this association 
from having been a member of Johnson's Ivy-Lane club. 
Originally an attorney, he had retired from the practice 
of the law, in consequence of a large fortune which fell to 
him in right of his wife, and was now a Middlesex magis- 
trate. He was, moreover, a dabbler in literature and 
music, and was actually engaged on a history of music, 
which he subsequently published in five ponderous vol- 
umes. To him we are also indebted for a biography of 
Johnson, which appeared after the death of that eminent 
man. Hawkins was as mean and parsimonious as he was 
pompous and conceited. He forbore to partake of the 
suppers at the club, and begged therefore to be excused 
from paying his share of the reckoning. "And was he 
excused ? " asked Dr. Burney of Johnson. " Oh, yes, for 
no man is angry with another for being inferior to him- 
self. We all scorned him and admitted his plea. Yet I 
really believe him to be an honest man at bottom, though 
to be sure he is penurious, and he is mean, and it must 
be owned he has a tendency to savageness." He did not 
remain above two or three years in the club ; being in a: 
manner elbowed out in consequence of his rudeness to 
Burke. 

12^ 



178 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

Mr. Anthony Chamier was Secretary in the war-office, 
and a friend to Beauclerc, by whom he was proposed. 
"We have left our mention of Bennet Langton and Top- 
ham Beauclerc until the last, because we have most to 
say about them. They were doubtless induced to join 
the club through their devotion to Johnson, and the 
intimacy of these two very young and aristocratic men 
with the stern and somewhat melancholy moralist is 
among the curiosities of literature. 

Bennet Langton was of an ancient family, who held 
their ancestral estate of Langton in Lincolnshire, — a 
great title to respect with Johnson. " Langton, sir," he 
would say, " has a grant of free-warren from Henry the 
Second ; and Cardinal Stej)hen Langton, in King John's 
reign, was of this family." 

Langton was of a mild, contemplative, enthusiastic na- 
ture. When but eighteen years of age he was so de- 
lighted with reading Johnson's " Rambler," that he came 
to London chiefly with a view to obtain an introduction 
to the author. Boswell gives us an account of his first in- 
terview, which took place in the morning. It is not often 
that the personal appearance of an author agrees with 
the preconceived ideas of his admirer. Langton, from 
perusing the writings of Johnson, expected to find him 
a decent, well-dressed, in short a remarkably decorous 
philosopher. Instead of which, down from his bedcham- 
ber about noon, came, as newly risen, a large uncouth 
figure, with a little dark wig which scarcely covered his 



LANGTON AND BEAUCLERC. 179 

Lead, and his clothes hanging loose about him. But his 
conversation was so rich, so animated, and so forcible, 
and his religious and political notions so congenial with 
those in which Langton had been educated, that he con- 
ceived for him that veneration and attachment which he 
ever preserved. 

Langton went to pursue his studies at Trinity College, 
Oxford, where Johnson saw much of him during a visit 
which he paid to the University. He found him in close 
intimacy with TojDham Beauclerc, a youth two years 
older than himself, very gay and dissipated, and won- 
dered what sympathies could draw two young men to- 
gether of such opposite characters. On becoming ac- 
quainted with Beauclerc he found that, rake though he 
was, he possessed an ardent love of literature, an acute 
understanding, polished wit, innate gentility, and high 
aristocratic breeding. He was, moreover, the only son 
of Lord Sidney Beauclerc and grandson of the Duke of 
St. Albans, and was thought in some particulars to have 
a resemblance to Charles the Second. These were high 
recommendations with Johnson ; and when the youth 
testified a profound respect for him and an ardent admi- 
ration of his talents, the conquest was complete, so that 
in a "short time," says Boswell, "the moral pious John- 
son and the gay dissipated Beauclerc were companions." 

The intimacy begun in college chambers was continued 
when the youths came to town during the vacations. The 
uncouth, unwieldy moralist was flattered at finding him- 



180 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

self an object of idolatry to two high-born, high-bred, 
aristocratic young men, and throwing gravity aside, was 
ready to join in their vagaries and play the part of a 
" young man upon town." Such at least is the picture 
given of him by Boswell on one occasion when Beauclerc 
and Langton, having supped together at a tavern, deter- 
mined to give Johnson a rouse at three o'clock in the 
morning. They accordingly rapped violently at the door 
of his chambers in the Temple. The indignant sage 
sallied forth in his shirt, poker in hand, and a little 
black wig on the top of his head, instead of helmet ; pre- 
pared to wreak vengeance on the assailants of his castle ; 
but when his two young friends Lanky and Beau, as he 
used to call them, presented themselves, summoning him 
forth to a morning ramble, his whole manner changed. 
" What, is it you, ye dogs ? " cried he. " Faith, I'll have 
a frisk with you ! " 

So said so done. They sallied forth together into 
Covent Garden ; figured among the green-grocers and 
fruit-women, just come in from the country with their 
hampers ; repaired to a neighboring tavern, where John- 
son brewed a bowl of bishop, a favorite beverage with 
him, grew merry over his cups, and anathematized sleep 
in two lines, from Lord Lansdowne's drinking song : — 

" Short, very short, be then thy reign, 
For I'm in haste to laugh and drink again." 

They then took boat again, rowed to Billingsgate, and 



FROLICS. 181 

Johnson and Beauclerc determined, like " mad wags," to 
" keep it up " for the rest of the day. Langton, however, 
the most sober-minded of the three, pleaded an engage- 
ment to breakfast with some young ladies ; whereupon 
the great moralist reproached him with " leaving his so- 
cial friends to go and sit with a set of wretched un-idea'd 
girls." 

This madcap freak of the great lexicographer made a 
sensation, as may well be supposed, among his intimates. 
"I heard of your frolic t'other night," said Garrick to 
him; "you'll be in the 'Chronicle.'" He uttered worse 
forebodings to others. "I shall have my old friend to 
bail out of the round-house," said he. Johnson, how- 
ever, valued himself upon having thus enacted a chapter 
in the "Rake's Progress," and crowed over Garrick on 
the occasion. "He durst not do such a thing! " chuckled 
he ; "his wife would not let him ! " 

When these two young men entered the club, Langton 
was about twenty-two, and Beauclerc about twenty-four 
years of age, and both were launched on London life. 
Langton, however, was still the mild, enthusiastic scholar, 
steeped to the lips in Greek, with fine conversational 
powers, and an invaluable talent for listening. He was 
upwards of six feet high, and very spare. "Oh ! that we 
could sketch him," exclaims Miss Hawkins, in her "Me- 
moirs," " with his mild countenance, his elegant features, 
and his sweet smile, sitting with one leg twisted round 
the other, as if fearing to occupy more space than was 



182 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

equitable ; his person inclining forward, as if wanting 
strength to support his weight, and his arms crossed 
over his bosom, or his hands locked together on his 
knee." Beauclerc, on such occasions, sportively com- 
pared him to a stork in Raphael's Cartoons, standing on 
one leg. Beauclerc was more a "man upon town," a 
lounger in St. James's Street, an associate with George 
Selwyn, with Walpole, and other aristocratic wits ; a man 
of fashion at court ; a casual frequenter of the gaming- 
table ; yet, with all this, he alternated in the easiest and 
happiest manner the scholar and the man of letters ; 
lounged into the club with the most perfect self-posses- 
sion, bringing with him the careless grace and polished 
wit of high-bred society, but making himself cordially at 
home among his learned fellow-members. 

The gay yet lettered rake maintained his sway over 
Johnson, who was fascinated by that air of the world, 
that ineffable tone of good society in which he felt him- 
self deficient, especially as the possessor of it always paid 
homage to his superior talent. " Beauclerc," he would 
say, using a quotation from Pope, " has a love of folly, 
but a scorn of fools ; everything he does shows the one, 
and everything he says, the other." Beauclerc delighted 
in rallying the stern moralist of whom others stood in 
awe, and no one, according to Boswell, could take equal 
liberty with him with impunity. Johnson, it is well 
known, was often shabby and negligent in his dress, and 
not over-cleanly in his person. On receiving a pension 



OPINION OF HAWKINS, 183 

from the crown, his friends vied with each other in re- 
spectful congratulations. Beauclerc simply scanned his 
person with a whimsical glance, and hoped that, like 
Falstaff, "he'd in future purge and live cleanly like a 
gentleman." Johnson took the hint with unexpected 
good-humor, and profited by it. 

Still Beauclerc's satirical vein, which darted shafts on 
every side, was not always tolerated by Johnson. w Sir," 
said he on one occasion, "you never open your mouth 
but with intention to give pain ; and you have often 
given me pain, not from the power of what you have said, 
but from seeing your intention." 

When it was at first proposed to enroll Goldsmith 
among the members of this association, there seems to 
have been some demur ; at least so says the pompous 
Hawkins. "As he wrote for the booksellers we of the 
club looked on him as a mere literary drudge, equal to 
the task of compiling and translating, but little capable 
of original and still less of poetical composition." 

Even for some time after his admission he continued 
to be regarded in a dubious light by some of the mem- 
bers. Johnson and Reynolds, of course, were well aware 
of his merits, nor was Burke a stranger to them ; but to 
the others he was as yet a sealed book, and the outside 
was not prepossessing. His ungainly person and awk- 
ward manners were against him with men accustomed to 
the graces of society, and he was not sufficiently at home 
to give play to his humor and to that bonhomie which 



184 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

won the hearts of all who knew him. He felt strange 
and out of place in this new sphere ; he felt at times the 
cool satirical eye of the courtly Beauclerc scanning him, 
and the more he attempted to appear at his ease, the 
more awkward he became. 




CHAPTEK XV. 

JOHNSON A MONITOR TO GOLDSMITH J FINDS HIM IN DISTRESS WITH HIS 
LANDLADY ; RELIEVED BY THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. — THE ORATORIO. — 
POEM OF THE TRAVELLER.— THE POET AND HIS DOG.— SUCCESS OF THE 
POEM.— ASTONISHMENT OF THE CLUB.— OBSERVATIONS ON THE POEM. 

fOHNSON had now become one of Goldsmith's 
best friends and advisers. He knew all the, 
weak points of his character, but he knew also 
his merits ; and while he would rebuke him like a child, 
and rail at his errors and follies, he would suffer no one 
else to undervalue him. Goldsmith knew the soundness 
of his judgment and his practical benevolence, and often 
sought his counsel and aid amid the difficulties into 
which his heedlessness was continually plunging him. 

"I received one morning," says Johnson, "a message 
from poor Goldsmith that he was in great distress, and, 
as it was not in his power to come to me, begging that I 
would come to him as soon as possible. I sent him a 
guinea, and promised to come to him directly. I accord- 
ingly went as soon as I was dressed, and found that his 
landlady had arrested him for his rent, at which he was 
in a violent passion : I perceived that he had already 
changed my guinea, and had a bottle of Madeira and a 

185 



186 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

glass before him. I put the cork into the bottle, desired 
he would be calm, and began to talk to him of the means 
by which he might be extricated. He then told me he 
had a novel ready for the press, which he produced to 
me. I looked into it and saw its merit ; told the landlady 
I should soon return ; and, having gone to a bookseller, 
sold it for sixty pounds. I brought Goldsmith the 
money, and he discharged his rent, not without rating his 
landlady in a high tone for having used him so ill." 

The novel in question was the " Vicar of Wakefield " ; 
the bookseller to whom Johnson sold it was Francis 
Newbery, nephew to John. Strange as it may seem, this 
captivating work, which has obtained and preserved an 
almost unrivalled popularity in various languages, was so 
little appreciated by the bookseller, that he kept it by 
him for nearly two years unpublished ! 

Goldsmith had, as yet, produced nothing of moment in 
poetry. Among his literary jobs, it is true, was an Ora- 
torio entitled "The Captivity," founded on the bondage 
of the Israelites in Babylon. It was one of those un- 
happy offsprings of the Muse ushered into existence amid 
the distortions of music. Most of the Oratorio has passed 
into oblivion ; but the following song from it will never 
die. 

" The wretch condemned from life to part, 
Still, still on hope relies. 
And every pang that rends the heart 
Bids expectation rise 



"TEE TRAVELLER." 187 

" Hope, like the glimmering taper's light, 
Illumes and cheers our way ; 
And still, as darker grows the night, 
Emits a brighter ray." 

Goldsmith distrusted his qualifications to succeed in 
poetry, and doubted the disposition of the public mind 
in regard to it. "I fear," said he, "I have come too late 
into the world ; Pope and other poets have taken up the 
places in the temple of Fame ; and as few at any period 
can possess poetical reputation, a man of genius can now 
hardly acquire it." Again, on another occasion, he ob- 
serves : " Of all kinds of ambition, as things are now 
circumstanced, perhaps that which pursues poetical fame 
is the wildest. What from the increased refinement of 
the times, from the diversity of judgment produced by 
opposing systems of criticism, and from the more preva- 
lent divisions of opinion influenced by party, the strong- 
est and happiest efforts can expect to please but in a very 
narrow circle." 

At this very time he had by him his poem of " The 
Traveller." The plan of it, as has already been observed, 
was conceived many years before, during his travels in 
Switzerland, and a sketch of it sent from that country to 
his brother Henry in Ireland. The original outline is 
said to have embraced a wider scope ; but it was proba- 
bly contracted through diffidence, in the process of fin- 
ishing the parts. It had laid by him for several years in 
a crude state, and it was with extreme hesitation and 



188 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

after much revision that he at length submitted it to Dr. 
Johnson. The frank and warm approbation of the latter 
encouraged him to finish it for the press ; and Dr. John- 
son himself contributed a few lines towards the conclu- 
sion. 

We hear much about " poetic inspiration," and the 
" poet's eye in a fine phrensy rolling ; " but Sir Joshua 
Reynolds gives an anecdote of Goldsmith while engaged 
upon his poem, calculated to cure our notions about the 
ardor of composition. Calling upon the poet one day, he 
opened the door without ceremony, and found him in the 
double occupation of turning a couplet and teaching a 
pet dog to sit upon his haunches. At one time he would 
glance his eye at his desk, and at another shake his fin- 
ger at the dog to make him retain his position. The last 
lines on the page were still wet ; they form a part of the 
description of Italy : 

" By sports like these are all their cares beguiled, 
The sports of children satisfy the child." 

Goldsmith, with his usual good-humor, joined in the 
laugh caused by his whimsical employment, and ac- 
knowledged that his boyish sport with the dog suggested 
the stanza. 

The poem was published on the 19th of December, 
1764, in a quarto form, by Newbery, and was the first of 
his works to which Goldsmith prefixed his name. As 
a testimony of cherished and well-merited affection, he 



ASTONISHMENT OF THE CLUB. 189 

dedicated it to his brother Henry. There is an amusing 
affectation of indifference as to its fate expressed in the 
dedication. " What reception a poem may find," says 
he, " which has neither abuse, party, nor blank verse to 
support it, I cannot tell, nor am I solicitous to know." 
The truth is, no one was more emulous and anxious for 
poetic fame ; and never was he more anxious than in the 
present instance, for it was his grand stake. Mr. John- 
son aided the launching of the poem by a favorable no- 
tice in the " Critical Be view " ; other periodical works 
came out in its favor. Some of the author's friends com- 
plained that it did not command instant and wide popu- 
larity ; that it was a poem to win, not to strike : it went 
on rapidly increasing in favor ; in three months a second 
edition was issued ; shortly afterwards, a third ; then a 
fourth ; and, before the year was out, the author was 
pronounced the best poet of his time. 

The appearance of " The Traveller " at once altered 
Goldsmith's intellectual standing in the estimation of 
society ; but its effect upon the club, if we may judge 
from the account given by Hawkins, was almost ludi- 
crous. They were lost in astonishment that a " news- 
paper essayist " and " bookseller's drudge " should have 
written such a poem. On the evening of its announce- 
ment to them Goldsmith had gone away early, after 
" rattling away as usual," and they knew not how to 
reconcile his heedless garrulity w r ith the serene beauty, 
the easy grace, the sound good sense, and the occasional 



190 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

elevation of his poetry. They could scarcely believe 
that such magic numbers had flowed from a man to 
whom in general, says Johnson, " it was with difficulty 
they could give a hearing." " Well," exclaimed Chamier, 
"I do believe he wrote this poem himself, and let me 
tell you, that is believing a great deal." 

At the next meeting of the club, Chamier sounded the 
author a little about his poem. " Mr. Goldsmith," said 
he " what do you mean by the last word in the first line 
of your ' Traveller/ ' Remote, unfriended, melancholy, 
slmo ' ? — do you mean tardiness of locomotion ? " — " Yes," 
replied Goldsmith, inconsiderately, being probably flur- 
ried at the moment. " No, sir," interposed his protect- 
ing friend Johnson, " you did not mean tardiness of loco- 
motion ; you meant that sluggishness of mind which 
comes upon a man in solitude." — "Ah," exclaimed Gold- 
smith, " that was what I meant." Chamier immediately 
believed that Johnson himself had written the line, and 
a rumor became prevalent that he was the author of 
many of the finest passages. This was ultimately set 
at rest by Johnson himself, who marked with a pencil all 
the verses he had contributed, nine in number, inserted 
towards the conclusion, and by no means the best in the 
poem. He moreover, with generous warmth, pronounced 
it the finest poem that had appeared since the days of 
Pope. 

But one of the highest testimonials to the charm of 
the poem was given by Miss Reynolds, who had toasted 



INCARNATE TOADYISM. 191 

poor Goldsmith as the ugliest man of her acquaintance. 
Shortly after the appearance of " The Traveller," Dr. 
Johnson read it aloud from beginning to end in her pres- 
ence. "Well," exclaimed she, when he had finished, 
" I never more shall think Dr. Goldsmith ugly ! " 

On another occasion, when the merits of " The Travel- 
ler " were discussed at Keynolds's board, Langton de- 
clared " there was not a bad line in the poem, not one 
of Dryden's careless verses." "I was glad," observed 
Reynolds, "to hear Charles Fox say it was one of the 
finest poems in the English language." "Why was you 
glad ? " rejoined Langton, " you surely had no doubt of 
this before." " No," interposed Johnson, decisively; " the 
merit of ' The Traveller ' is so well established, that Mr. 
Fox's praise cannot augment it, nor his censure dimin- 
ish it." 

Boswell, who was absent from England at the time of 
the publication of the " Traveller," was astonished on 
his return, to find Goldsmith, whom he had so much 
undervalued, suddenly elevated almost to a par with his 
idol. He accounted for it by concluding that much both 
of the sentiments and expression of the poem had been 
derived from conversations with Johnson. " He imitates 
you, sir," said this incarnation of toadyism. " Why no, 
sir," replied Johnson, " Jack Hawksworth is one of my 
imitators, but not Goldsmith. Goldy, sir, has great 
merit." " But, sir, he is much indebted to you for his 
get.ing so high in the public estimation." "Why, sir, 



192 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

he has, perhaps, got sooner to it by his intimacy with 
me." 

The poem went through several editions in the course 
of the first year, and received some few additions and 
corrections from the author's pen. It produced a golden 
harvest to Mr. Newbery ; but all the remuneration on 
record, doled out by his niggard hand to the author, was 
twenty guineas! 



CHAPTEK XVI. 



NEW LODGINGS.— JOHNSON'S COMPLIMENT.— A TITLED PATRON.— THE POET AT 
NORTHUMBERLAND HOUSE.— HIS INDEPENDENCE OF THE GREAT. —THE 
COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND. — EDWIN AND ANGELINA. — GOSFIELD AND 
LORD CLARE.— PUBLICATION OF ESSAYS.— EVILS OF A RISING REPUTATION. 
—HANGERS-ON.— JOB-WRITING. — GOODY TWO-SHOES.— A MEDICAL CAMPAIGN. 
— MRS. SIDEBOTHAM. 




OLDSMITH, now that he was rising in the 
world, and becoming a notoriety, felt himself 
called upon to improve his style of living. He 
accordingly emerged from Wine-Office Court, and took 
chambers in the Temple. It is true they were but of 
humble pretensions, situated on what was then the 
library staircase, and it would appear that he was a kind 
of inmate with Jeffs, the butler of the society. Still he 
was in the Temple, that classic region rendered famous 
by the Spectator and other essayists as the abode of gay 
wits and thoughtful men of letters; aud which, with its 
retired courts and embowered gardens, in the very heart 
of a noisy metropolis, is, to the quiet-seeking student and 
author, an oasis freshening with verdure in the midst of 
a desert. Johnson, who had become a kind of growling 
supervisor of the poet's affairs, paid him a visit soon 
13 193 



194 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

after lie had installed himself in his new quarters, and 
went prying about the apartment, in his near-sighted 
manner, examining everything minutely. Goldsmith was 
fidgeted by this curious scrutiny, and apprehending a 
disposition to find fault, exclaimed, with the air of a man 
who had money in both pockets, " I shall soon be in 
better chambers than these." The h armless bravado 
drew a reply from Johnson, which touched the chord 
of proper pride. " Nay, sir," said he, " never mind that. 
Nil te qusesiveris extra," — implying that his reputation 
rendered him independent of outward show. Happy 
would it have been for poor Goldsmith, could he have 
kept this consolatory compliment perpetually in mind, 
and squared his expenses accordingly. 

Among the persons of rank Avho were struck with the 
merits of the "Traveller" was the Earl (afterwards Duke) 
of Northumberland. He procured several othor of Gold- 
smith's writings, the perusal of which tended to elevate 
the author in his good opinion, and to gain for him his 
good will. The Earl held the office of Lord-Lieutenant 
of Ireland, and understanding Goldsmith was an Irish- 
man, was disposed to extend to him the patronage which 
his high post afforded. He intimated the same to his 
relative, Dr. Percy, who, he found, was well acquainted 
with the poet, and expressed a wish that the latter should 
wait upon him. Here, then, was another opportunity for 
Goldsmith to better his fortune, had he been knowing and 
worldly enough to profit by it. Unluckily the path to 



A TITLED PATROX. 195 

fortune lay through the aristocratical mazes of Northum- 
berland House, and the poet blundered at the outset. 
The following is the account he used to give of his visit : 
" I dressed myself in the best manner I could, and, after 
studying some compliments I thought necessary on such 
an occasion, proceeded to Northumberland House, and 
acquainted the servants that I had particular business 
with the Duke. They showed me into an antechamber, 
where, after waiting some time, a gentleman, very ele- 
gantly dressed, made his appearance : taking him for the 
Duke, I delivered all the fine things I had composed in 
order to compliment him on the honor he had done me ; 
when, to my great astonishment, he told me I had mis- 
taken him for his master, who would see me immediately. 
At that instant the Duke came into the apartment, and 
I was so confounded on the occasion that I wanted words 
barely sufficient to express the sense I entertained of the 
Duke's politeness, and went away exceedingly chagrined 
\t the blunder I had committed." 

Sir John Hawkins, in his Life of Dr. Johnson, gives 
some farther particulars of this visit, of which he was, in 
part, a witness. "Having one day," says he, "a call to 
make on the late Duke (then Earl) of Northumberland, I 
found Goldsmith waiting for an audience in an outer 
room : I asked him what had brought him there ; he told 
me, an invitation from his lordship. I made my business 
as short as I could, and, as a reason, mentioned that Dr. 
Goldsmith was waiting without. The Earl asked me if I 



196 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

was acquainted with him. I told him that I was, adding 
what I thought was most likely to recommend him. I 
retired, and stayed in the outer room to take him home. 
Upon his coming out, I asked him the result of his con- 
versation. ' His lordship,' said he, * told me he had read 
my poem, meaning the " Traveller," and was much de- 
lighted with it ; that he was going to be lord-lieutenant of 
Ireland, and that, hearing I was a native of that country, 
he should be glad to do me any kindness.' ' And what 
did you answer,' said I, ' to this gracious offer ? ' * Why,' 
said he, ' I could say nothing but that I had a brother 
there, a clergyman, that stood in need of help : as for my- 
self, I have no great dependence on the promises of great 
men ; I look to the booksellers for support ; they are my 
best friends, and I am not inclined to forsake them for 
others.' " " Thus," continues Sir John, " did this idiot in 
the affairs of the world trifle with his fortunes, and put 
back the hand that was held out to assist him." 

We cannot join with Sir John in his worldly sneer at 
the conduct of Goldsmith on this occasion. While we 
admire that honest independence of spirit which pre- 
vented him from asking favors for himself, we love that 
warmth of affection which instantly sought to advance 
the fortunes of a brother ; but the peculiar merits of 
poor Goldsmith seem to have been little understood by 
the Hawkinses, the Boswells, and the other biographers 
of the day. 

After all, the introduction to Northumberland House 



THE COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 197 

did not prove so complete a failure as the humorous ac- 
count given by Goldsmith, and the cynical account given 
by Sir John Hawkins, might lead one to suppose. Dr« 
Percy, the heir male of the ancient Percies, brought the 
poet into the acquaintance of his kinswoman, the coun- 
tess ; who, before her marriage with the earl, was in her 
own right heiress of the House of Northumberland. 
" She was a lady," says Boswell, " not only of high dig- 
nity of spirit, such as became her noble blood, but of 
excellent understanding and lively talents." Under hei 
auspices a poem of Goldsmith's had an aristocratical in- 
troduction to the world. This was the beautiful ballad of 
"The Hermit," originally published under the name of 
"Edwin and Angelina." It was suggested by an old 
English ballad beginning "Gentle Herdsman," shown 
him by Dr. Percy, who was at that time making his fa- 
mous collection, entitled "Reliques of Ancient English 
Poetry," which he submitted to the inspection of Gold- 
smith prior to publication. A few copies only of " The 
Hermit" were printed at first, with the following title- 
page : " Edwin and Angelina : a Ballad. By Mr. Gold- 
smith. Printed for the Amusement of the Countess of 
Northumberland. ' ' 

All this, though it may not have been attended with 
any immediate pecuniary advantage, contributed to give 
Goldsmith's name and poetry the high stamp of fashion, 
so potent in England : the circle at Northumberland 
House, however, was of too stately and aristocratical a 



198 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

nature to be much to his taste, and we do not find that 
he became familiar in it. 

He was much more at home at Gosfield, the seat of his 
countryman, Robert Nugent, afterwards Baron Nugent 
and Viscount Clare, who appreciated his merits even 
more heartily than the Earl of Northumberland, and oc- 
casionally made him his guest both in town and country. 
Nugent is described as a jovial voluptuary, who left 
the Roman - Catholic for the Protestant religion, with 
a view to bettering his fortunes ; he had an Irishman's 
inclination for rich widows, and an Irishman's luck with 
the sex ; having been thrice married, and gained a for- 
tune with each wife. He was now nearly sixty, with a 
remarkably loud voice, broad Irish brogue, and ready, 
but somewhat coarse wit. With all his occasional coarse- 
ness he was capable of high thought, and had produced 
poems which showed a truly poetic vein. He was long a 
member of the House of Commons, where his ready wit, 
his fearless decision, and good-humored audacity of ex- 
pression always gained him a hearing, though his tall 
person and awkward manner gained him the nickname 
of Squire Gawky among the political scriblers of the day. 
With a patron of this jovial temperament, Goldsmith 
probably felt more at ease than with those of higher re- 
finement. 

The celebrity which Goldsmith had acquired by his 
poem of " The Traveller " occasioned a resuscitation of 
many of his miscellaneous and anonymous tales and 



PUBLICATION OF ESSAYS. 199 

essays from the various newspapers and other transient 
publications in which they lay dormant. These he pub- 
lished in 1765, in a collected form, under the title of 
"Essays by Mr. Goldsmith.' "The following Essays," 
observes he in his preface, "have already appeared at 
different times, and in different publications. The i>am- 
plilets in which they were inserted being generally unsuc- 
cessful, these shared the common fate, without assisting 
the booksellers' aims, or extending the author's rej3u- 
tation. The public were too strenuously employed with 
their own follies to be assiduous in estimating mine ; so 
that many of my best attempts in this way have fallen 
victims to the transient topic of the times — the Ghost in 
Cock Lane, or the Siege of Ticonderoga. 

" But, though they have passed pretty silently into the 
world, I can by no means complain of their circulation. 
The magazines and papers of the day have indeed been 
liberal enough in this respect. Most of these essays 
have been regularly reprinted twice or thrice a year, and 
conveyed to the public through the kennel of some en- 
gaging compilation. If there be a pride in multiplied 
editions, I have seen some of my labors sixteen times re- 
printed, and claimed by different parents as their own. I 
have seen them flourished at the beginning with praise, 
and signed at the end with the names of Philautos, Phi= 
lalethes, Phileleutheros, and Philanthropes. It is time, 
however, at last to vindicate my claims ; and as these 
entertainers of the public, as they call themselves, have 



200 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

partly lived upon me for some years, let me now try if I 
cannot live a little upon myself." 

It was but little, in fact ; for all the pecuniary emolu- 
ment lie received from the volume was twenty guineas. 
It had a good circulation, however, was translated into 
French, and has maintained its stand among the British 
classics. 

Notwithstanding that the reputation of Goldsmith had 
greatly risen, his finances were often at a very low ebb, 
owing to his heedlessness as to expense, his liability to 
be imposed upon, and a spontaneous and irresistible 
propensity to give to every one who asked. The very 
rise in his reputation had increased these embarrass- 
ments. It had enlarged his circle of needy acquaint- 
ances, authors poorer in pocket than himself, who came 
in search of literary counsel ; which generally meant a 
guinea and a breakfast. And then his Irish hangers-on ! 
" Our Doctor," said one of these sponges, " had a con- 
stant levee of his distressed countrymen, whose wants, 
as far as he was able, he always relieved ; and he has 
often been known to leave himself without a guinea, in 
order to supply the necessities of others." 

This constant drainage of the purse, therefore, obliged 
him to undertake all jobs proposed by the booksellers, 
and to keep up a kind of running account with Mr. New- 
bery; who was his banker on all occasions, sometimes 
for pounds, sometimes for shillings ; but who was a rigid 
accountant, and took care to be amply repaid in manu- 



GOODY TWO SHOES. 201 

script. Manv effusions, hastily penned in these moments 
of exigency, were published anonymously, and never 
claimed. Some of them have but recently been traced 
to his pen ; while of many the true authorship will prob- 
ably never be discovered. Among others, it is suggested, 
and with great probability, that he wrote for Mr. New- 
bery the famous nursery story of " Goody Two Shoes," 
which appeared in 1765, at a moment when Goldsmith 
was scribbling for Newbery, and much pressed for funds. 
Several quaint little tales introduced in his Essays show 
that he had a turn for this species of mock history; and 
the advertisement and title-page bear the stamp of his 
sly and playful humor. 

"We are desired to give notice that there is in the 
press, and speedily will be published, either by subscrip- 
tion or otherwise, as the public shall please to determine, 
the ' History of Little Goody Two Shoes, otherwise Mrs. 
Margery Two Shoes ; ' with the means by which she ac- 
quired learning and wisdom, and, in consequence thereof, 
her estate ; set forth at large for the benefit of those 

" Who, from a state of rags and care, 
And having shoes but half a pair, 
Their fortune and their fame should fix, 
And gallop in a coach and six." 

The world is probably not aware of the ingenuity, hu° 
mor, good sense, and sly satire contained in many of the 
old English nursery-tales. They have evidently been 



202 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

the sportive productions of able writers, who would not 
trust their names to productions that might be con- 
sidered beneath their dignity. The ponderous works on 
which they relied for immortality have perhaps sunk 
into oblivion, and carried their names down with them ; 
while their unacknowledged offspring, "Jack the Giant 
Killer," "Giles Gingerbread," and "Tom Thumb," flour- 
ish in wide-spreading and never-ceasing pojDularity. 

As Goldsmith had now acquired popularity and an 
extensive acquaintance, he attempted, with the advice of 
his friends, to procure a more regular and ample support 
by resuming the medical profession. He accordingly 
launched himself upon the town in style ; hired a man- 
servant ; replenished his wardrobe at considerable ex- 
pense, and appeared in a professional wig and cane, pur- 
ple silk small-clothes, and a scarlet roquelaure buttoned 
to the chin : a fantastic garb, as we should think at the 
present day, but not unsuited to the fashion of the times. 

With his sturdy little person thus arrayed in the un- 
usual magnificence of purple and fine linen, and his scar- 
let roquelaure flaunting from his shoulders, he used to 
strut into the apartments of his patients swaying his 
three-cornered hat in one hand and his medical sceptre, 
the cane, in the other, and assuming an air of gravity and 
importance suited to the solemnity of his wig ; at least, 
such is the picture given of him by the waiting gentle- 
woman who let him into the chamber of one of his lady- 
patients. 



A MEDICAL CAMPAIGN 203 

He soon, however, grew tired and impatient of the 
. duties and restraints of his profession ; his practice was 
chiefly among his friends, and the fees were not sufficient 
for his maintenance ; he was disgusted with attendance 
on sick-chambers and capricious patients, and looked 
back with longing to his tavern-haunts and broad con- 
vivial meetings, from which the dignity and duties of his 
medical calling restrained him. At length, on prescrib- 
ing to a lady of his acquaintance, who, to use a hack- 
neyed phrase, "rejoiced" in the aristocratical name of 
Sidebotham, a warm dispute arose between him and the 
aj^othecary as to the quantity of medicine to be admin- 
istered. The Doctor stood up for the rights and digni- 
ties of his profession, and resented the interference of 
the compounder of drugs. His rights and dignities, how- 
ever, were disregarded ; his wig and cane and scarlet 
roquelaure were of no avail ; Mrs. Sidebotham sided with 
the hero of the pestle and mortar ; and Goldsmith flung 
out of the house in a passion. " I am determined hence- 
forth," said he to Topham Beauclerc, " to leave off pre- 
scribing for friends." " Do so, my dear Doctor," was the 
reply ; " whenever you undertake to kill, let it be only 
your enemies." 

This was the end of Goldsmith's medical career 



CHAPTEE XVn. 



PUBLICATION OF THE " VIC AH OF WAKEFIELD"; OPINIONS CONCERNING IT 
OF DR. JOHNSON ; OF ROGERS THE POET ; OF GOETHE ; ITS MERITS ; EXQUI 
SITE EXTRACT.— ATTACK BY KENRICK. — REPLY. — BOOK-BUILDING.— PROJECT 
OF A COMEDY. 



HE success of the poem of " The Traveller," and 
the popularity which it had conferred on its 
author, now roused the attention of the book- 
seller in whose hands the novel of " The Yicar of Wake- 
field " had been slumbering for nearly two long years. 
The idea has generally prevailed that it was Mr. John 
Newbery to whom the manuscript had been sold, and 
much surprise has been expressed that he should be in- 
sensible to its merit and suffer it to remain unpublished, 
while putting forth various inferior writings by the same 
author. This, however, is a mistake ; it was his nephew, 
Francis Newbery, who had become the fortunate pur- 
chaser. Still the delay is equally unaccountable. Some 
have imagined that the uncle and nephew had business 
arrangements together, in which this work was included, 
and that the elder Newbery, dubious of its success, re- 
tarded the publication until the full harvest of " The 
Traveller " should be reaped Booksellers are prone to 

204 



THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. 205 

make egregious mistakes as to the merit of works in 
manuscript; and to undervalue, if not reject, those of 
classic and enduring excellence, when destitute of that 
false brilliancy commonly called '•' effect." In the pres- 
ent instance, an intellect vastly superior to that of either 
of the booksellers was equally at fault. Dr. Johnson, 
speaking of the work to Boswell, some time subsequent 
to its publication, observed, " I myself did not think it 
would have had much success. It was written and sold 
to a bookseller before 'The Traveller,' but published 
after, so little expectation had the bookseller from it. 
Had it been sold after 'The Traveller,' he might have 
had twice as much money ; though sixty guineas was no 
mean price " 

Sixty guineas for the "Vicar of Wakefield"! and this 
could be pronounced no mean price by Dr. Johnson, at 
that time the arbiter of British talent, and who had had 
an opportunity of witnessing the effect of the work upon 
the public mind ; for its success was immediate. It came 
out on the 27th of March, 1766 ; before the end of May a 
second edition was called for ; in three months more, a 
third ; and so it went on, widening in a popularity that 
has never flagged. Rogers, the Nestor of British litera- 
ture, whose refined purity of taste and exquisite mental 
organization rendered him eminently calculated to appre- 
ciate a work of the kind, declared that of all the books 
which through the fitful changes of three generations he 
had seen rise and fall, the charm of the " Yicar of Wake- 



206 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

field" had alone continued as at first; and could lie 
revisit the world after an interval of many more genera- 
tions, he should as surely look to find it -undiminished. 
Nor has its celebrity been confined to Great Britain. 
Though so exclusively a picture of British scenes and 
manners, it has been translated into almost every lan- 
guage, and everywhere its charm has been the same. 
Goethe, the great genius of Germany, declared in his 
eighty-first year, that it was his delight at the age of 
twenty, that it had in a manner formed a part of his 
education, influencing his taste and feelings throughout 
life, and that he had recently read it again from begin- 
ning to end — with renewed delight, and with a grateful 
sense of the early benefit derived from it. 

It is needless to expatiate upon the qualities of a work 
which has thus passed from country to country, and 
language to language, until it is now known throughout 
the whole reading-world and is become a household 
book in every hand. The secret of its universal and 
enduring popularity is undoubtedly its truth to nature, 
but to nature of the most amiable kind, to nature such as 
Goldsmith saw it. The author, as we have occasionally 
shown in the course of this memoir, took his scenes and 
characters in this, as in his other writings, from originals 
in his own motley experience ; but he has given them as 
seen through the medium of his own indulgent eye, and 
has set them forth with the colorings of his own good 
head and heart. Yet how contradictory it seems that 



EXQUISITE EXTRACT. 207 

this, one of the most delightful pictures of home and 
homefelt happiness should be drawn by a homeless man ; 
that the most amiable picture of domestic virtue and all 
the endearments of the married state should be drawn by 
a bachelor, who had been severed from domestic life al- 
most from boyhood ; that one of the most tender, touch- 
ing, and affecting appeals on behalf of female loveliness 
should have been made by a man whose deficiency in all 
the graces of person and manner seemed to mark him out 
for a cynical disparager of the sex. 

We cannot refrain from transcribing from the work a 
short passage illustrative of what we have said, and which 
within a wonderfully small compass comprises a world 
of beauty of imagery, tenderness of feeling, delicacy and 
refinement of thought, and matchless purity of style. 
The two stanzas which conclude it, in which are told a 
whole history of woman's wrongs and sufferings, is, for 
pathos, simplicity, and euphony, a gem in the language. 
The scene depicted is where the poor Vicar is gathering 
around him the wrecks of his shattered family, and en- 
deavoring to rally them back to happiness. 

" The next morning the sun arose with peculiar warmth 
for the season, so that we agreed to breakfast together on 
the honeysuckle bank ; where, while we sat, my youngest 
daughter at my request joined her voice to the concert on 
the trees about us. It was in this place my poor Olivia 
first met her seducer, and every object served to recall 
her sadness. But that melancholy which is excited by 



208 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

objects of pleasure, or inspired by sounds of harmony, 
soothes the heart instead of corroding it. Her mother, 
too, upon this occasion, felt a pleasing distress, and wept 
and loved her daughter as before. ' Do, my pretty Oli- 
via,' cried she, 'let us have that melancholy air your 
father was so fond of; your sister Sophy has already 
obliged us. Do, child, it will please your old father.' 
She complied in a manner so exquisitely pathetic as 
moved me. 

" 'When lovely woman stoops to folly, 
And finds too late that men betray, 
What charm can soothe her melancholy, 
What art can wash her guilt away ? 

" 'The only art her guilt to cover, 

To hide her shame from every eye, 
To give repentance to her lover, 
And wring his bosom — is to die.' " 

Scarce had the "Vicar of Wakefield " made its appear- 
ance and been received with acclamation, than its author 
was subjected to one of the usual penalties that attend 
success. He was attacked in the newspapers. In one of 
the chapters he had introduced his ballad of " The Her- 
mit," of which, as we have mentioned, a few copies had 
been printed some considerable time previously for the 
use of the Countess of Northumberland. This brought 
forth the following article in a fashionable journal of the 
day:— 



NEWSPAPER ATTACK. 209 

" To the Printer of the * St. James's Chronicle. 9 

" Sir, — In the ' Reliques of Ancient Poetry,' published 
about two years ago, is a very beautiful little ballad, 
called 'A Friar of Orders Gray.' The ingenious editor, 
Mr. Percy, supposes that the stanzas sung by Ophelia in 
the play of ' Hamlet ' were parts of some ballad well known 
in Shakspeare's time, and from these stanzas, with the 
addition of one or two of his own to connect them, he 
has formed the above-mentioned ballad ; the subject of 
which is, a lady comes to a convent to inquire for her 
love who had been driven there by her disdain. She is 
answered by a friar that he is dead : — 

" 'No, no, he is dead, gone to his death's bed. 
He never will come again.' 

The lady weeps and laments her cruelty; the friar en- 
deavors to comfort her with morality and religion, but 
all in vain ; she expresses the deepest grief and the most 
tender sentiments of love, till at last the friar discovers 
himself : — 

" ' And lo ! beneath this gown of gray 
Thy own true love appears.' 

" This catastrophe is very fine, and the whole, joined 
with the greatest tenderness, has the greatest simplicity ; 
yet, though this ballad was so recently published in 
the * Ancient Reliques,' Dr. Goldsmith has been hardy 
enough to publish a poem called 'The Hermit,' where 
14 



210 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

the circumstances and catastrophe are exactly the same, 
only with this difference, that the natural simplicity and 
tenderness of the original are almost entirely lost in the 
languid smoothness and tedious paraphrase of the copy, 
which is as short of the merits of Mr. Percy's ballad as 
the insipidity of negus is to the genuine flavor of cham- 
pagne. 

" I am, sir, yours, &c, 

" Detector." 

This attack, supposed to be by .Goldsmith's constant 
persecutor, the malignant Kenrick, drew from him the 
following note to the editor : — 

" Sir, — As there is nothing I dislike so much as news- 
paper controversy, particularly upon trifles, permit me to 
be as concise as possible in informing a correspondent of 
yours that I recommended ' Blainville's Travels ' because 
I thought the book was a good one ; and I think so still. 
I said I was told by the bookseller that it was then 
first published ; but in that it seems I was misinformed, 
and my reading was not extensive enough to set me 
right. 

"Another correspondent of yours accuses me of hav- 
ing taken a ballad I published some time ago, from one 
by the ingenious Mr. Percy. I do not think there is any 
great resemblance between the two pieces in question. 
If there be any, his ballad was taken from mine. I read 



REPLY TO KEXRICK. 211 

it to Mr. Percy some years ago ; and he, as we both con- 
sidered these things as trifles at best, told me, with his 
usual good-humor, the next time I saw him, that he had 
taken my plan to form the fragments of Shakspeare into 
a ballad of his own. He then read me his little Cento, 
if I may so call it, and I highly approved it. Such petty 
anecdotes as these are scarcely worth printing ; and, were 
it not for the busy disposition of some of your corre- 
spondents, the public should never have known that he 
owes me the hint of his ballad, or that I am obliged to 
his friendship and learning for communications of a 
much more important nature. 

" I am, sir, yours, &c, 

"Oliver Goldsmith." 

The unexpected circulation of the "Vicar of Wake- 
field " enriched the publisher, but not the author. Gold- 
smith no doubt thought himself entitled to participate in 
the profits of the repeated editions ; and a memorandum, 
still extant, shows that he drew upon Mr. Francis New- 
bery, in the month of June, for fifteen guineas, but that 
the bill was returned dishonored. He continued, there- 
fore, his usual job-work for the booksellers, writing in- 
troductions, prefaces, and head and tail-pieces for new 
works ; revising, touching up, and modifying travels and 
voyages ; making compilations of prose and poetry, and 
"building books," as he sportively termed it. These 
tasks required little labor or talent, but that taste and 



212 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

touch which are the magic of gifted minds. His terms 
began to be proportioned to his celebrity. If his price 
was at any time objected to, " Why, sir," he would say, 
" it may seem large ; but then a man may be many years 
working in obscurity before his taste and reputation are 
fixed or estimated ; and then he is, as in other profes- 
sions, only paid for his previous labors." 

He was, however, prepared to try his fortune in a dif- 
ferent walk of literature from any he had yet attempted. 
We have repeatedly adverted to his fondness for the 
drama ; he was a frequent attendant at the theatres ; 
though, as we have shown, he considered them under 
gross mismanagement. He thought, too, that a vicious 
taste prevailed among those who wrote for the stage. 
" A new species of dramatic composition," says he, in one 
of his essays, " has been introduced under the name of 
sentimental comedy, in which the virtues of private life are 
exhibited rather than the vices exposed; and the dis- 
tresses rather than the faults of mankind make our inter- 
est in the piece. In these plays almost all the characters 
are good, and exceedingly generous ; they are lavish 
enough of their tin money on the stage ; and though they 
want humor, have abundance of sentiment and feeling. If 
they happen to have faults or foibles, the spectator is 
taught not only to pardon, but to applaud them in con- 
sideration of the goodness of their hearts ; so that folly, 
instead of being ridiculed, is commended, and the com- 
edy aims at touching our passions, without the power of 



PROJECT OF A COMEDY. 213 

being truly pathetic. In this manner we are likely to 
lose one great source of entertainment on the stage ; for 
while the comic poet is invading the province of the 
tragic muse, he leaves her lively sister quite neglected. 
Of this, however, he is no ways solicitous, as he mea- 
sures his fame by his profits 

"Humor at present seems to be departing from the 
stage ; and it will soon happen that our comic players 
will have nothing left for it but a fine coat and a song. 
It depends upon the audience whether they will actually 
drive these poor merry creatures from the stage, or sit at 
a play as gloomy as at the tabernacle. It is not easy to 
recover an art when once lost ; and it will be a just pun- 
ishment, that when, by our being too fastidious, we have 
banished humor from the stage, we should ourselves be 
deprived of the art of laughing." 

Symptoms of reform in the drama had recently taken 
place. The comedy of the " Clandestine Marriage," the 
joint production of Colman and Garrick, and suggested 
by Hogarth's inimitable pictures of Mariage a la mode, 
had taken the town by storm, crowded the theatre with 
fashionable audiences, and formed one of the leading 
literary topics of the year. Goldsmith's emulation was 
roused by its success. The comedy was, in what he con- 
sidered the legitimate line, totally different from the 
sentimental school; it presented pictures of real life, 
delineations of character and touches of humor, in which 
he felt himself calculated to excel. The consequence 



214 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

was, that in the course of this year (1766) he commenced 
a comedy of the same class, to be entitled the " Good- 
Natured Man," at which he diligently wrought whenever 
the hurried occupation of " book-building " allowed him 
leisure,, 



CHAPTEE XVIII. 

SOCIAL POSITION OF GOLDSMITH ; HIS COLLOQUIAL CONTESTS WITH JOHNSON.— 
ANECDOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS. 

[p*iipffiHE social position of Goldsmith had undergone 
p&Kpy a material change since the publication of " The 
|||^£S$ : : | Traveller." Before that event he was but par- 
tially known as the author of some clever anonymous 
writings, and had been a tolerated member of the club 
and the Johnson circle, without much being expected 
from him. Now he had suddenly risen to literary fame, 
and become one of the lions of the day. The highest 
regions of intellectual society were now open to him ; 
but he was not prepared to move in them with confidence 
and success. Ballymahon had not been a good school of 
manners at the outset of life ; nor had his experience as 
a "poor student" at colleges and medical schools contrib- 
uted to give him the polish of society. He had brought 
from Ireland, as he said, nothing but his "brogue and 
his blunders," and they had never left him. He had 
travelled, it is true ; but the Continental tour which in 
those days gave the finishing grace to the education of a 
patrician youth, had, with poor Goldsmith, been little 

215 



210 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

better than a course of literary vagabondizing. It had 
enriched his mind, deepened and widened the benevo- 
lence of his heart, and filled his memory with enchanting 
pictures, but it had contributed little to disciplining him 
for the polite intercourse of the world. His life in Lon- 
don had hitherto been a struggle with sordid cares and 
sad humiliations. "You scarcely can conceive," wrote 
he some time previously to his brother, " how much eight 
years of disappointment, anguish, and study have worn 
me down." Several more years had since been added to 
the term during which he had trod the lowly walks of 
life. He had been a tutor, an apothecary's drudge, a 
petty physician of the suburbs, a bookseller's hack, 
drudging for daily bread. Each separate walk had been 
beset by its peculiar thorns and humiliations. It is won- 
derful how his heart retained its gentleness and kindness 
through all these trials ; how his mind rose above the 
" meannesses of poverty," to which, as he says, he was 
compelled to submit ; but it would be still more wonder- 
ful, had his manners acquired a tone corresponding to 
the innate grace and refinement of his intellect. He was 
near forty years of age when he published " The Trav- 
eller," and was lifted by it into celebrity. As is beauti- 
fully said of him by one of his biographers, "he has 
fought his way to consideration and esteem ; but he 
bears upon him the scars of his twelve years' conflict ; 
of the mean sorrows through which he has passed ; and 
of the cheap indulgences he has sought relief and help 



SOCIAL POSITION. 217 

from. There is nothing plastic in his nature now. His 
manners and habits are completely formed ; and in them 
any further success can make little favorable change, 
whatever it may effect for his mind or genius." * 

"We are not to be surprised, therefore, at finding him 
make an awkward figure in the elegant drawing-rooms 
which were now open to him, and disappointing those 
who had formed an idea of him from the fascinating ease 
and gracefulness of his poetry. 

Even the literary club, and the circle of which it 
formed a part, after their surprise at the intellectual 
flights of which he showed himself caj)able, fell into a 
conventional mode of judging and talking of him, and of 
placing him in absurd and whimsical points of view. 
His very celebrity ojDerated here to his disadvantage. It 
brought him into continual comparison with Johnson, 
who was the oracle of that circle and had given it a tone. 
Conversation was the great staple there, and of this 
Johnson was a master. He had been a reader and 
thinker from childhood : his melancholy temperament, 
which unfitted him for the pleasures of youth, had made 
him so. For many years past the vast variety of works 
he had been obliged to consult in preparing his Diction- 
ary, had stored an uncommonly retentive memory with, 
facts on all kinds of subjects ; making it a perfect collo- 
quial armory. " He had all his life," says Boswell, " ha- 

* Forster's Goldsmith. 



218 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

bituated himself to consider conversation as a trial of in- 
tellectual vigor and skill. He had disciplined himself as 
a talker as well as a writer, making it a rule to impart 
whatever he knew in the most forcible language he could 
put it in, so that by constant practice and never suffering 
any careless expression to escape him, he had attained 
an extraordinary accuracy and command of language." 

His conversation in all companies, according to Sir 
Joshua Keynolds, was such as to secure him universal 
attention, something above the usual colloquial style 
being always expected from him. 

" I do not care," said Orme, the historian of Hindos- 
tan, " on what subject Johnson talks ; but I love better to 
hear him talk than anybody. He either gives you new 
thoughts or a new coloring." 

A stronger and more graphic eulogium is given by Dr. 
Percy. "The conversation of Johnson," says he, "is 
strong and clear, and may be compared to an antique 
statue, where every vein and muscle is distinct and 
clear." 

Such was the colloquial giant with which Goldsmith's 
celebrity and his habits of intimacy brought him into 
continual comparison ; can we wonder that he should 
appear to disadvantage ? Conversation grave, discursive, 
and disputatious, such as Johnson excelled and delighted 
in, was to him a severe task, and he never was good at a 
task of any kind. He had not, like Johnson, a vast fund 
of acquired facts to draw upon ; nor a retentive memory 



GOLDSMITH'S CONVERSATION. 219 

to furnish them forth when wanted. He could not, like 
the great lexicographer, mould his ideas and balance his 
periods while talking. He had a flow of ideas, but it was 
apt to be hurried and confused; and, as he said of him- 
self, he had contracted a hesitating and disagreeable 
manner of speaking. He used to say that he always ar- 
gued best when he argued alone ; that is to say, he could 
master a subject in his study, with his pen in his hand ; 
but when he came into company he grew confused, and 
was unable to talk about it. Johnson made a remark 
concerning him to somewhat of the same purport. " No 
man," said he, " is more foolish than Goldsmith when he 
has not a pen in his hand, or more wise when he has." 
Yet with all this conscious deficiency he was contin- 
ually getting involved in colloquial contests with John- 
son and other prime talkers of the literary circle. He 
felt that he had become a notoriety, that he had entered 
the lists and was expected to make fight ; so with that 
heedlessness which characterized him in everything else 
he dashed on at a venture, trusting to chance in this as 
in other things, and hoping occasionally to make a lucky 
hit. Johnson perceived his hap -hazard temerity, but 
gave him no credit for the real diffidence which lay at 
bottom. "The misfortune of Goldsmith in conversa- 
tion," said he, " is this, he goes on without knowing how 
he is to get off. His genius is great, but his knowledge 
is small. As they say of a generous man it is a pity he 
is not rich, we may say of Goldsmith it is a pity he is 



220 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

not knowing. He would not keep his knowledge to him- 
self." And, on another occasion, he observes : " Gold- 
smith, rather than not talk, will talk of what he knows 
himself to be ignorant, which can only end in exposing 
him. If in company with two founders, he would fall 
a-talking on the method of making cannon, though both 
of them would soon see that he did not know what metal 
a cannon is made of." And again : " Goldsmith should 
not be forever attempting to shine in conversation ; he 
has not temper for it, he is so much mortified when he 
fails. Sir, a game of jokes is composed partly of skill, 
partly of chance; a man may be beat at times by one 
who has not the tenth part of his wit. Now Goldsmith, 
putting himself against another, is like a man laying a 
hundred to one, who cannot spare the hundred. It is 
not worth a man's while. A man should not lay a hun- 
dred to one unless he can easily spare it, though he has 
a hundred chances for him ; he can get but a guinea, and 
he may lose a hundred. Goldsmith is in this state. 
When he contends, if he gets the better, it is a very little 
addition to a man of his literary reputation; if he does 
not get the better, he is miserably vexed." 

Johnson was not aware how much he was himself to 
blame in producing this vexation. "Goldsmith," said 
Miss Keynolds, " always appeared to be overawed by 
Johnson, particularly when in company with people of 
any consequence ; always as if impressed with fear of 
disgrace ; and indeed well he might. I have been wit 



FABLE OF THE LITTLE FLSHES. 221 

ness to many mortifications he has suffered in Dr. John- 
son's company." 

It may not have been disgrace that he feared, but 
rudeness. The great lexicographer, spoiled by the hom- 
age of society, was still more prone than himself to lose 
temper when the argument went against him. He could 
not brook aj)pearing to be worsted, but would attempt to 
bear down his adversary by the rolling thunder of his 
periods, and, when that failed, would become downright 
insulting. Boswell called it "having recourse to some 
sudden mode of robust sophistry " ; but Goldsmith de- 
signated it much more happily. "There is no arguing 
with Johnson," said he, "for, when his pistol misses fire, he 
knocks you doicn ivith the hut-end of it" * 

In several of the intellectual collisions recorded by 
Boswell as triumphs of Dr. Johnson, it really ajDpears 
to us that Goldsmith had the best both of the wit and 
the argument, and es}3ecially of the courtesy and good- 
nature. 

On one occasion he certainly gave Johnson a capital 
reproof as to his own colloquial peculiarities. Talking 
)f fables, Goldsmith observed that the animals intro- 
luced in them seldom talked in character. "For in- 
stance," said he, " the fable of the little fishes, who saw 



* The following is given by Boswell, as an instance of robust sophis- 
try : — " Once, when I was pressing upon him with visible advantage, he 
stopped me thus — ' My dear Boswell, let's have no more of this ; you'll 
make nothing of it; I'd rather hear you whistle a Scotch tune.' " 



222 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

birds fly over their heads, and, envying them, petitioned 
Jupiter to be changed into birds. The skill consists in 
making them talk like little fishes." Just then observ- 
ing that Dr. Johnson was shaking his sides and laugh- 
ing, he immediately added, " Why, Dr. Johnson, this is 
not so easy as you seem to think ; for, if you were to 
make little fishes talk, they would talk like whales." 

But though Goldsmith suffered frequent mortifica- 
tions in society from the overbearing, and sometimes 
harsh, conduct of Johnson, he always did justice to his 
benevolence. When royal j^ensions w r ere granted to Dr. 
Johnson and Dr. Shebbeare, a punster remarked, that 
the king had pensioned a she -bear and a he -bear; to 
which Goldsmith replied, "Johnson, to be sure, has 
a roughness in his manner, but no man alive has a 
more tender heart. He has nothing of the bear but the 



Goldsmith, in conversation, shone most when he least 
thought of shining ; when he gave up all effort to appear 
wise and learned, or to cope with the oracular senten- 
tiousness of Johnson, and gave way to his natural im- 
pulses. Even Boswell could perceive his merits on these 
occasions. " For my part," said he, condescendingly, " I 
like very well to hear honest Goldsmith talk away care- 
lessly ; " and many a much wiser man than Boswell 
delighted in those outpourings of a fertile fancy and a 
generous heart. In his happy moods, Goldsmith had 
an artless simplicity and buoyant good-humor, that led 



B COY ANT GOOD HUMOR. 223 

to a thousand amusing blunders and whimsical con- 
fessions, much to the entertainment of his intimates; 
yet in his most thoughtless garrulity there was oc- 
casionally the gleam of the gold and the flash of the 
diamond. 



CHAPTEE XIX. 



SOCIAL RESORTS. — THE SHILLING WHIST-CLUB. — A PRACTICAL JOKE. — THhi 
WEDNESDAY CLUB.— THE "TUN OF MAN."— THE PIG-BUTCHER.— TOM KING 
— HUGH KELLY. — GLOVER AND HIS CHARACTERISTICS. 



HOUGH Goldsmith's pride and ambition led 
him to mingle occasionally with high society, 
and to engage in the colloquial conflicts of the 
learned circle, in both of which he was ill at ease and 
conscious of being undervalued, yet he had some social 
resorts in which he indemnified himself for their re- 
straints by indulging his humor without control. One 
of them was a shilling whist-club, which held its meet- 
ings at the Devil Tavern, near Temple Bar, a place ren- 
dered classic, we are told, by a club held there in old 
times, to which "rare Ben Jonson" had furnished the 
rules. The company was of a familiar, unceremonious 
kind, delighting in that very questionable wit which con- 
sists in playing off practical jokes upon each other. Of 
one of these Goldsmith was made the butt. Coming to 
the club one night in a hackney-coach, he gave the coach- 
man by mistake a guinea instead of a shilling, which he 
set down at a dead loss, for there was no likelihood, he 
said, that a fellow of this class would have the honesty to 

224 



THE SHILLING WHIST-CLUB. 225 

return the money. On the next club-evening he was told 
a person at the street-door wished to speak with him. 
He went forth, but soon returned with a radiant counte- 
nance. To his surprise and delight the coachman had 
actually brought back the guinea. While he launched 
forth in praise of this unlooked-for piece of honesty, he 
declared it ought not to go unrewarded. Collecting a 
small sum from the club, and no doubt increasing it 
largely from his own purse, he dismissed the Jehu with 
many encomiums on his good conduct. He was still 
chanting his praises, when one of the club requested a 
sight of the guinea thus honestly returned. To Gold- 
smith's confusion it proved to be a counterfeit. The uni- 
versal burst of laughter which succeeded, and the jokes 
by which he was assailed on every side, showed him that 
the whole was a hoax, and the pretended coachman as 
much a counterfeit as the guinea. He was so disconcert- 
ed, it is said, that he soon beat a retreat for the evening. 

Another of those free and easy clubs met on Wednes- 
day evenings at the Globe Tavern in Fleet Street. It was 
somewhat in the style of the Three Jolly Pigeons : songs, 
jokes, dramatic imitations, burlesque parodies, and broad 
sallies of humor, formed a contrast to the sententious 
morality, pedantic casuistry, and polished sarcasm of ' the 
learned circle. Here a huge " tun of man," by the name 
of Gordon, used to delight Goldsmith by singing the 
jovial song of Nottingham Ale, and looking like a butt of 
it. Here, too, a wealthy pig-butcher, charmed, no doubt, 
15 



226 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

by the mild philanthropy of " The Traveller," aspired to 
be on the most sociable footing with the author; and . 
here was Tom King, the comedian, recently risen to con- 
sequence by his performance of Lord Ogleby in the new 
comedy of " The Clandestine Marriage." 

A member of more note was one Hugh Kelly, a second- 
rate author, who, as he became a kind of competitor of 
Goldsmith's, deserves particular mention. He was an 
Irishman, about twenty-eight years of age, originally ap- 
prenticed to a staymaker in Dublin; then writer to a 
London attorney ; then a Grub-Street hack ; scribbling 
for magazines and newspapers. Of late he had set up 
for theatrical censor and satirist, and in a paper called 
" Thespis," in emulation of Churchill's " Rosciad," had 
harassed many of the poor actors without mercy, and 
often without wit ; but had lavished his incense on Gar- 
rick, who, in consequence, took him into favor. He was 
the author of several works of superficial merit, but 
which had suflicient vogue to inflate his vanity. This, 
however, must have been mortified on his first introduc- 
tion to Johnson ; after sitting a short time he got up to 
take leave, expressing a fear that a longer visit might be 
troublesome. "Not in the least, 'sir," said the surly 
moralist, "I had forgotten you were in the room." John- 
son used to speak of him as a man who had written more 
than he had read. 

A prime wag of this club was one of Goldsmith's poor 
countrymen and hangers-on, by the name of Glover. He 



GLOVER. 227 

had originally been educated for the medical profession, 
but had taken in early life to the stage, though appa- 
rently without much success. While performing at Cork, 
he undertook, partly in jest, to restore life to the body of 
a malefactor, who had just been executed. To the aston- 
ishment of eTery one, himself among the number, he 
succeeded. The miracle took wind. He abandoned the 
stage, resumed the wig and cane, and considered his for- 
tune as secure. Unluckily, there were not many dead 
people to be restored to life in Ireland ; his practice did 
not equal his expectation, so he came to London, where 
he continued to dabble indifferently, and rather unprofit- 
ably, in physic and literature. 

He was a great frequenter of the Globe and Devil tav- 
erns, where he used to amuse the company by his talent 
at story-telling and his powers of mimicry, giving capital 
imitations of Garrick, Foote, Colman, Sterne, and other 
public characters of the day. He seldom happened to 
have money enough to pay his reckoning, but was always 
sure to find some ready purse among those who had been 
amused by his humors. Goldsmith, of course, was one 
of the readiest. It was through him that Glover was ad- 
mitted to the Wednesday Club, of which his theatrical 
imitations became the delight. Glover, however, was a 
little anxious for the dignity of his patron, which ap- 
peared to him to suffer from the over-familiarity of some 
of the members of the club. He was especially shocked 
by the free and easy tone in which Goldsmith was ad- 



228 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

dressed by the pig-butcher. " Come, Noll," would he 
say, as he pledged him, " here's my service to you, old 
boy ! " 

Glover whispered to Goldsmith, that he " should not 
allow such liberties." " Let him alone," was the reply, 
"you'll see how civilly I'll let him down." After a time, 
he called out, with marked ceremony and politeness, 
"Mr. B., I have the honor of drinking your good health." 
Alas ! dignity was not poor Goldsmith's forte : he could 
keep no one at a distance. " Thank'ee, thank'ee, Noll," 
nodded the pig-butcher, scarce taking the pipe out of his 
mouth. " I don't see the effect of your reproof," whis- 
pered Glover. " I give it ujd," replied Goldsmith, with 
a good-humored shrug ; " I ought to have known before 
now there is no putting a pig in the right way." 

Johnson used to be severe upon Goldsmith for min- 
gling in those motley circles, observing, that, having 
been originally poor, he had contracted a love for low 
comjDany. Goldsmith, however, was guided not by a 
taste for what was low, but for what was comic and char- 
acteristic. It was the feeling of the artist ; the feeling 
which furnished out some of his best scenes in familiar 
life ; the feeling with which " rare Ben Jonson " sought 
these very haunts and circles in days of yore, to stud}- 
" Every Man in his Humor." 

It was not always, however, that the humor of these 
associates was to his taste : as they became boisterous 
in their merriment, he was apt to become depressed. 



MELANCHOLY. 229 

The company of fools," says he, in one of his essays, 
" may at first make us smile, but at last never fails of 
making us melancholy." " Often he would become 
moody," says Glover, " and would leave the party ab- 
ruptly to go home and brood over his misfortune." 

It is possible, however, that he went home for quite 
a different purpose : to commit to paper some scene or 
passage suggested for his comedy of " The Good-natured 
Man." The elaboration of humor is often a most serious 
task ; and we have never witnessed a more perfect pic- 
ture of mental misery than was once presented to us by 
a popular dramatic writer — still, we hope, living — whom 
we found in the agonies of producing a farce which sub- 
sequently set the theatres in a roar. 



CHAPTEE XX. 

THE GREAT CHAM OF LITERATURE AND THE KING. — SCENE AT SIR JOSHUA 
REYNOLDS'S. — GOLDSMITH ACCUSED OF JEALOUSY. — NEGOTIATIONS WITH 
GARRICK. — THE AUTHOR AND THE ACTOR ; THEIR CORRESPONDENCE. 

to«^ j : :||HE comedy of "The Good-natured Man" was 
:Wf§H&j completed by Goldsmith early in 1767, and 
llJISB^Sjj submitted to the perusal of Johnson, Burke, 
Reynolds, and others of the literary club, by whom it 
was heartily approved. Johnson, who was seldom half- 
way either in censure or applause, pronounced it the 
best comedy that had been written since "The Provoked 
Husband," and promised to furnish the prologue. This 
immediately became an object of great solicitude with 
' Goldsmith, knowing the weight an introduction from the 
Great Cham of literature would have with the public ; 
but circumstances occurred which he feared might drive 
the comedy and the prologue from Johnson's thoughts. 
The latter was in the habit of visiting the royal library 
at the Queen's (Buckingham) House, a noble collection 
of books, in the formation of which he had assisted the 
librarian, Mr. Bernard, with his advice. One evening, as 
he was seated there by the fire reading, he was surprised 

230 



SCENE AT SIB JOSHUA REYNOLDS'S. 231 

by the entrance of the King (George III.), then a young 
man, who sought this occasion to have a conversation 
with him. The conversation was varied and discursive, 
the king shifting from subject to subject according to his 
wont. "During the whole interview," says Boswell, 
"Johnson talked to his Majesty with profound respect, 
but still in his open, manly manner, with a sonorous 
voice, and never in that subdued tone which is commonly 
used at the levee and in the drawing-room. ' I found his 
Majesty wished I should talk,' said he, 'and I made it 
my business to talk. I find it does a man good to be 
talked to by his sovereign. In the first place, a man can- 
not be in a passion.' " It would have been well for John- 
son's colloquial disputants, could he have often been 
under such decorous restraint. Profoundly monarchical 
in his principles, Le retired from the interview highly 
gratified with the conversation of the King and with his 
gracious behavior. "Sir," said he to the librarian, "they 
may talk of the King as they will, but he is the finest 
gentleman I have ever seen." — "Sir," said he subse- 
quently to Bennet Langton, "his manners are those of 
as fine a gentleman as we may suppose Louis the Four- 
teenth or Charles the Second." 

While Johnson's face was still radiant with the reflex 
of royalty, he was holding forth one day to a listening 
group at Sir Joshua Keynolds's, who were anxious to 
hear every particular of this memorable conversation. 
Among other questions, the King had asked him whether 



232 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

he was writing anything. His reply was, that he thought 
he had already done his part as a writer. "I should have 
thought so, too," said the King, "if you had not written 
so well." — "No man," said Johnson, commenting on this 
speech, " could have made a handsomer compliment; and 
it was fit for a King to pay. It was decisive." — "But 
did you make no reply to this high compliment ? " asked 
one of the company. "No, sir," replied the profoundly 
deferential Johnson ; " when the King had said it, it was 
to be so. It was not for me to bandy civilities with my 
sovereign." 

During all the time that Johnson was thus holding 
forth, Goldsmith, who was present, appeared to take no 
interest in the royal theme, but remained seated on a 
sofa at a distance, in a moody fit of abstraction ; at length 
recollecting himself, he sprang up, and advancing, ex- 
claimed, with what Boswell calls his usual " frankness 
and simplicity," — "Well, you acquitted yourself in this 
conversation better than I should have done, for I should 
have bowed and stammered through the whole of it." 
He afterwards explained his seeming inattention by say- 
ing that his mind was completely occupied about his 
play, and by fears lest Johnson, in his present state of 
royal excitement, would fail to furnish the much-desired 
prologue. 

How natural and truthful is this explanation. Yet 
Boswell presumes to pronounce Goldsmith's inattention 
affected, and attributes it to jealousy. " It was stronglj 



2TEG0TIATI0XS WITH GARRICK. 233 

suspected," says lie, " that he was fretting with chagrin 
and envy at the singular honor Dr. Johnson had lately 
enjoyed." It needed the littleness of mind of Boswell to 
ascribe such pitiful motives to Goldsmith, and to enter- 
tain such exaggerated notions of the honor paid to Dr. 
Johnson. 

" The Good-natured Man " was now ready for perform- 
ance, but the question was, how to get it upon the stage. 
The affairs of Covent Garden, for which it had been in- 
tended, were thrown into confusion by the recent death 
of Rich, the manager. Drury Lane was under the man- 
agement of Garrick ; but a feud, it will be recollected, 
existed between him and the poet, from the animadver- 
sions of the latter on the mismanagement of theatrical 
affairs, and the refusal of the former to give the poet his 
vote for the secretaryship of the Society of Arts. Times, 
however, were changed. Goldsmith, when that feud took 
place, was an anonymous writer, almost unknown to fame, 
and of no circulation in society. Now he had become a 
literary lion ; he was a member of the Literary Club ; he 
was the associate of Johnson, Burke, Topham Beauclerc, 
and other magnates,— in a word, he had risen to conse- 
quence in the public eye, and of course was of con- 
sequence in the eyes of David Garrick. Sir Joshua 
Reynolds saw the lurking scruples of pride existing be- 
tween the author and actor, and thinking it a pity that 
two men of such congenial talents, and who might be so 
serviceable to each other, should be kept asunder by a 



234 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

worn-out pique, exerted his friendly offices to bring them 
together. The meeting took place in Reynolds's house in 
Leicester Square. Garrick, however, could not entirely 
put off the mock majesty of the stage ; he meant to be 
civil, but he was rather too gracious and condescending. 
Tom Davies, in his " Life of Garrick," gives an amusing 
picture of the coming together of these punctilious par- 
ties. " The manager," says he, " was fully conscious of 
his (Goldsmith's) merit, and perhaps more ostentatious 
of his abilities to serve a dramatic author than became 
a man of his prudence ; Goldsmith was, on his side, as 
fully persuaded of his own invportance and independent 
greatness. Mr. Garrick, who had so long been treated 
with the complimentary language paid to a successful 
patentee and admired actor, expected that the writer 
would esteem the patronage of his play a favor ; Gold- 
smith rejected all ideas of kindness in a bargain that was 
intended to be of mutual advantage to both parties, and 
in this he was certainly justifiable ; Mr. Garrick could 
reasonably expect no thanks for the acting a new play, 
which he would have rejected if he had not been con- 
vinced it would have amply rewarded his pains and ex- 
pense. I believe the manager was willing to accept the 
play, but he wished to be courted to it ; and the Doctor 
was not disposed to purchase his friendship by the resig- 
nation of his sincerity." They separated, however, with 
an understanding on the part of Goldsmith that his play 
would be acted. The conduct of Garrick subsequently 



TEE AUTEOR AND ACTOR. 235 

proved evasive, not through any lingerings of past hos- 
tility, but from habitual indecision in matters of the kind, 
and from real scruples of delicacy. He did not think the 
piece likely to succeed on the stage, and avowed that 
opinion to Reynolds and Johnson, — but hesitated to say 
as much to Goldsmith, through fear of wounding his feel- 
ings. A further misunderstanding was the result of this 
want of decision and frankness ; repeated interviews and 
some correspondence took place without bringing mat- 
ters to a point, and in the meantime the theatrical sea- 
son passed away. 

Goldsmith's pocket, never well supplied, suffered griev- 
ously by this delay, and he considered himself entitled 
to call upon the manager, who still talked of acting the 
play, to advance him forty pounds upon a note of the 
younger Newbery. Garrick readily complied, but sub- 
sequently suggested certain important alterations in the 
comedy as indispensable to its success ; these were in- 
dignantly rejected by the author, but pertinaciously in- 
sisted on by the manager. Garrick proposed to leave the 
matter to the arbitration of Whitehead, the laureate, who 
officiated as his "reader" and elbow-critic. Goldsmith 
was more indignant than ever, and a violent dispute en- 
sued, which was only calmed by the interference of 
Burke and Reynolds. 

Just at this time, order came out of confusion in the 
affairs of Covent Garden. A pique having risen between 
Colman and Garrick, in the course of their joint authcr- 



236 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

ship of " The Clandestine Marriage," the former had be- 
come manager and part-proprietor of Covent Garden, and 
was preparing to open a powerful competition with his 
former colleague. On hearing of this, Goldsmith made 
overtures to Colman ; who, without waiting to consult 
his fellow-proprietors, who were absent, gave instantly 
a favorable reply. Goldsmith felt the contrast of this 
warm, encouraging conduct, to the chilling delays and 
objections of Garrick. He at once abandoned his piece 
to the discretion of Colman. "Dear sir," says he, in a 
letter dated Temple Garden Court, July 9th, " I am very 
much obliged to you for your kind partiality in my favor, 
and your tenderness in shortening the interval of my ex- 
pectation. That the play is liable to many objections I 
well know, but I am happy that it is in hands the most 
capable in the world of removing them. If then, dear 
sir, you will complete your favor by putting the piece 
into such a state as it may be acted, or of directing me 
how to do it, I shall ever retain a sense of your goodness 
to me. And indeed, though most probably this be the 
last I shall ever write, yet I can't help feeling a secret 
satisfaction that poets for the future are likely to have a 
protector who declines taking advantage of their dread- 
ful situation — and scorns that importance which may be 
acquired by trifling with their anxieties." 

The next day Goldsmith wrote to Garrick, who was at 
Litchfield, informing him of his having transferred his 
piece to Covent Garden, for which it had been originally 



REPLY OF GARRICK 237 

written, and by the patentee of which it was claimed, ob- 
serving, "As I found you had very great difficulties about 

that piece, I complied with his desire I am 

extremely sorry that you should think me warm at our 
last meeting : your judgment certainly ought to be free, 
especially in a matter which must in some measure con- 
cern your own credit and interest. I assure you, sir, 
I have no disposition to differ with you on this or any 
other account, but am, with an high opinion of your 
abilities, and a very real esteem, sir, your most obedient 
humble servant. Oliver Goldsmith." 

In his reply, Garrick observed, " I was, indeed, much 
hurt that your warmth at our last meeting mistook my 
sincere and friendly attention to your play for the re- 
mains of a former misunderstanding, which I had as 
much forgot as if it had never existed. What I said to 
you at my own house I now repeat, that I felt more pain 
in giving my sentiments than you possibly would in re- 
ceiving them. It has been the business, and ever will be, 
of my life to live on the best terms with men of genius ; 
and I know that Dr. Goldsmith will have no reason to 
change his previous friendly disposition towards me, as 
I shall be glad of every future opportunity to convince 
him how much I am his obedient servant and well- 
wisher. D. Garrick." 



CHAPTEK XXI. 



MORE HACK-AUTHORSHIP.— TOM DAVIES AND THE ROMAN HISTORY.— CANON 
BURY CASTLE —POLITICAL AUTHORSHIP.— PECUNIARY TEMPTATION. -DEATH 
OF NEWBERY THE ELDER. 



HOUGH Goldsmith's comedy was now in train 
to be performed, it could not be brought out 
before Christmas ; in the meantime he must 
live. Again, therefore, he had to resort to literary jobs 
for his daily support. These obtained for him petty oc- 
casional sums, the largest of which was ten pounds, from 
the elder Newbery, for an historical compilation ; but 
this scanty rill of quasi patronage, so sterile in its prod- 
ucts, was likely soon to cease ; Newbery being too ill to 
attend to business, and having to transfer the whole 
management of it to his nephew. 

At this time Tom Davies, the sometime Roscius, some- 
time bibliopole, stepped forward to Goldsmith's relief, 
and proposed that he should undertake an easy popular 
history of Rome in two volumes. An arrangement was 
soon made. Goldsmith undertook to complete it in two 
years, if possible, for two hundred and fifty guineas, and 
forthwith set about his task with cheerful alacrity. As 

888 



TOM DA VIES. 239 

usual, he sought a rural retreat during the summer 
months, where he might alternate his literary labors with 
strolls about the green fields. " Merry Islington " was 
again his resort, but he now aspired to better quarters 
than formerly, and engaged the chambers occupied occa- 
sionally by Mr. Newbery, in Canonbury House, or Castle, 
as it is pojDularly called. This had been a hunting-lodge 
of Queen Elizabeth, in whose time it was surrounded by 
parks and forests. In Goldsmith's day, nothing re- 
mained of it but an old brick tower; it was still in the 
country amid rural scenery, and was a favorite nestling- 
place of authors, publishers, and others of the literary 
order.* A number of these he had for fellow-occupants 
of the castle ; and they formed a temporary club, which 
held its meetings at the Crown Tavern, on the Islington 
lower road ; and here he presided in his own genial style, 
and was the life and delight of the company. 

The writer of these pages visited old Canonbury Cas- 
tle some years since, out of regard to the memory of 
Goldsmith. The apartment was still shown which the 

* See on the distant slope, majestic shows 
Old Canonbury's tower, an ancient pile 
To various fates assigned ; and where by turns 
Meanness and grandeur have alternate reign'd; 
Thither, in latter days, hath genius fled 
From yonder city, to respire and die. 
There the sweet bard of Auburn sat, and tuned 
The plaintive moanings of his village dirge. 
There learned Chambers treasured lore for men. 
And Newbery there his A B-C's for babes, 



240 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

poet had inhabited, consisting of a sitting-room and 
small bedroom, with panelled wainscots and Gothic win- 
dows. The quaintness and quietude of the place were 
still attractive. It was one of the resorts of citizens on 
their Sunday walks, who would ascend to the top of the 
tower and amuse themselves with reconnoitring the city 
through a telescope. Not far from this tower were the 
gardens of the White Conduit House, a Cockney Elysium, 
wheie Goldsmith used to figure in the humbler days of 
his fortune. In the first edition of his Essays he speaks 
of a stroll in these gardens, where he at that time, no 
doubt, thought himself in perfectly genteel society. 
After his rise in the world, however, he became too 
knowing to speak of such plebeian haunts. In a new edi- 
tion of his Essays, therefore, the White Conduit House 
and its gardens disappear, and he speaks of " a stroll in 
the Park." 

While Goldsmith was literally living from hand to 
mouth by the forced drudgery of the pen, his indepen- 
dence of spirit was subjected to a sore pecuniary trial. It 
was the opening of Lord North's administration, a time 
of great political excitement. The public mind was agi- 
tated by the question of American taxation, and other 
questions of like irritating tendency. Junius and Wilkes 
and other powerful writers were attacking the adminis- 
tration with all their iorce ; Grub Street was stirred up 
to its lowest depths ; inflammatory talent of all kinds was 
in full activity, and the kingdom was deluged with pam 



DEATH OF FEW BERRY. 241 

pblets, lampoons, and libels of the grossest kinds. The 
ministry were looking anxiously round for literarj sap- 
port. It was thought that the pen of Goldsmith might 
be readily enlisted. His hospitable Mend and country- 
man, Robert Nugent, politically known as Squire Gawky, 
had come out strenuously for colonial taxation ; had been 
selected for a lordship of the board of trade, and raised 
to the rank of Baron Nugent and Yiscount Clare. His 
example, it was thought, would be enough of itself to 
bring Goldsmith into the ministerial ranks ; and then 
what writer of the day was proof against a full purse or a 
pension ? Accordingly one Parson Scott, chaplain to Lord 
Sandwich, and author of "Anti Sejanus Panurge," and 
other political libels in support of the administration, was 
sent to negotiate with the poet, who at this time was 
returned to town Dr. Scott, in after-years, when his 
political subserviency had been rewarded by two fat 
crown-livings, used to make what he considered a good 
story out of this embassy to the poet. " I found him," 
said he, "ina miserable suit of chambers, in the Temple. 
I told him my authority : I told how I was empowered 
to pay most liberally for his exertions ; and, would you 
believe it ! he was so absurd as to say, ' I can earn as 
much as will supply my wants without writing for any 
party ; the assistance you offer is therefore unnecessary 
to me ; ' — and so I left him in his garret ! " Who does 
not admire the sturdy independence of poor Goldsmith 
toiling in his garret for nine guineas the job, and smile 
16 



242 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

with contempt at the indignant wonder of the political 
divine, albeit his subserviency was repaid by two fat 
crown-livings ? 

Not long after this occurrence, Goldsmith's old friend, 
though frugal -handed employer, Newbery, of picture- 
book renown, closed his mortal career. The poet has 
celebrated him as the friend of all mankind ; he certainly 
lost nothing by his friendship. He coined the brains of 
his authors in the times of their exigency, and made them 
pay dear for the plank put out to keep them from drown- 
ing. It is not likely his death caused much lamentation 
among the scribbling tribe ; we may express decent re- 
spect for the memory of the just, but we shed tears only 
at the grave of the generous. 



CHAPTER XXII 

THEATRICAL MANOEUVRING. — THE COMEDY OF " FALSE DELICACY." — FIRST 
PERFORMANCE OF "THE GOOD-NATURED MAN." — CONDUCT OF JOHNSON- 
— CONDUCT OF THE AUTHOR. — INTERMEDDLING OF THE PRESS. 




3E comedy of "The Good-natured Man" was 
doomed to experience delays and difficulties to 
the very last. Garrick, notwithstanding his pro- 
fessions, had still a lurking grudge against the author, 
and tasked his managerial arts to thwart him in his the- 
atrical enterprise. For this purpose he undertook to 
build up Hugh Kelly, Goldsmith's boon companion of 
the Wednesday club, as a kind of rival. Kelly had writ- 
ten a comedy called "False Delicacy," in which were 
embodied all the meretricious qualities of the sentimen- 
tal school. Garrick, though he had decried that school, 
and had brought out his comedy of "The Clandestine 
Marriage" in opposition to it, now lauded "False Deli- 
cacy " to the skies, and prepared to bring it out at Drury 
Lane with all possible stage-effect. He even went so far 
as to write a prologue and epilogue for it, and to touch 
up some parts of the dialogue. He had become recon- 
ciled to his former colleague, Colman, and it is intimated 
that one condition in the treaty of peace between these 

243 



244 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

potentates of the realms of pasteboard (equally prone to 
play into each other's hands with the confederate poten- 
tates on the great theatre of life) was, that Goldsmith's 
play should be kept back until Kelly's had been brought 
forward. 

In the meantime the poor author, little dreaming of 
the deleterious influence at work behind the scenes, 
saw the appointed time arrive and pass by without the 
performance of his play ; while " False Delicacy " was 
brought out at Drury Lane (January 23, 1768) with all 
the trickery of managerial management. Houses were 
packed to applaud it to the echo ; the newspapers vied 
with each other in their venal praises, and night after 
night seemed to give it a fresh triumph. 

While "False Delicacy" was thus borne on the full 
tide of fictitious prosperity, "The Good-natured Man" 
was creeping through the last rehearsals at Covent Gar- 
den. The success of the rival piece threw a damp upon 
author, manager, and actors. Goldsmith went about 
with a face full of anxiety ; Colman's hopes in the piece 
declined at each rehearsal ; as to his fellow-proprietors, 
they declared they never entertained any. All the actors 
were discontented with their parts, excepting Ned Shuter, 
an excellent low comedian, and a pretty actress named 
Miss Walford ; both of whom the poor author ever after- 
ward held in grateful recollection. 

Johnson, Goldsmith's growling monitor and unsparing 
castigator in times of heedless levity, stood by him at 



THE COMEDY OF ''FALSE DELICACY:' 245 

present with that protecting kindness with which he 
ever befriended him in time of need. He attended the 
rehearsals ; he furnished the prologue according to prom- 
ise ; he pish'd and pshaw'd at any doubts and fears on 
the part of the author, but gave him sound counsel, and 
held him up with a steadfast and manly hand. Inspirited 
by his sympathy, Goldsmith plucked up new heart, and 
arrayed himself for the grand trial with unusual care. 
Ever since his elevation into the polite world, he had im- 
proved in his wardrobe and toilet. Johnson could no 
longer accuse him of being shabby in his appearance ; he 
rather went to the other extreme. On the present occa- 
sion there is an entry in the books of his tailor, Mr. Wil- 
liam Filby, of a suit of " Tyrian bloom, satin 'grain, and 
garter blue silk breeches, £8 2s. 7d." Thus magnifi- 
cently attired, he attended the theatre and watched the 
reception of the play, and the effect of each individual 
scene, with that vicissitude of feeling incident to his mer- 
curial nature. 

Johnson's prologue was solemn in itself, and being de- 
livered by Brinsley in lugubrious tones suited to the 
ghost in "Hamlet," seemed to throw a portentous gloom 
on the audience. Some of the scenes met with great ap- 
plause, and at such times Goldsmith was highly elated; 
others went off coldly, or there were slight tokens of dis- 
approbation, and then his spirits would sink. The fourth 
act saved the piece ; for Shuter, who had the main comic 
* character of Croaker, was so varied and ludicrous in his 



246 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

execution of the scene in which he reads an incendiary 
letter, that he drew down thunders of applause. On his 
coming behind the scenes, Goldsmith greeted him with 
an overflowing heart ; declaring that he exceeded his 
own idea of the character, and made it almost as new to 
him as to any of the audience. 

On the whole, however, both the author and his 
friends were disappointed at the reception of the piece, 
and considered it a failure. Poor Goldsmith left the 
theatre with his towering hopes completely cut down. 
He endeavored to hide his mortification, and even to 
assume an air of unconcern while among his associates ; 
but the moment he was alone with Dr. Johnson, in 
whose rough but magnanimous nature he reposed un- 
limited confidence, he threw off all restraint and gave 
way to an almost childlike burst of grief. Johnson, who 
had shown no want of sympathy at the proper time, saw 
nothing in the partial disappointment of over-rated ex- 
pectations to warrant such ungoverned emotions, and 
rebuked him sternly for what he termed a silly affecta- 
tion, saying that " No man should be expected to sympa- 
thize with the sorrows of vanity." 

When Goldsmith had recovered from the blow, he, 
with his usual unreserve, made his past distress a subject 
of amusement to his friends. Dining one day, in com- 
pany with Dr. Johnson, at the chaplain's table at St. 
James's Palace, he entertained the company with a par- 
ticular and comic account of all his feelings on the night 



CONDUCT OF JOHNSON. 247 

of representation, and his despair when the piece was 
hissed. How he went, he said, to the Literary Club ; 
chatted gayly, as if nothing had gone amiss ; and, to give 
a greater idea of his unconcern, sang his favorite song 
about an old woman tossed in a blanket seventeen times 

as high as the moon " All this while," added he, 

" I was suffering horrid tortures, and, had I put a bit in 
my mouth, I verily believe it would have strangled me on 
the spot, I was so excessively ill ; but I made more noise 
than usual to cover all that ; so they never perceived 
my not eating, nor suspected the anguish of my heart ; 
but when all were gone except Johnson here, I burst out 
a-crying, and even swore that I would never write again." 

Dr. Johnson sat in amaze at the odd frankness and 
childlike self-accusation of poor Goldsmith. When the 
latter had come to a pause, " All this, Doctor," said he, 
dryly, "I thought had been a secret between you and 
me, and I am sure I would not have said anything about 
it for the world." But Goldsmith had no secrets : his 
follies, his weaknesses, his errors were all thrown to the 
surface ; his heart was really too guileless and innocent 
to seek mystery and concealment. It is too often the 
false, designing man that is guarded in his conduct and 
never offends proprieties. 

It is singular, however, that Goldsmith, who thus in 
conversation could keep nothing to himself, should be 
the author of a maxim which would inculcate the most 
thorough dissimulation. " Men of the world," says he in 



248 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

one of the papers of the " Bee," " maintain that the true 
end of speech is not so much to express our wants as to 
conceal them." How often is this quoted as one of the 
subtle remarks of the fine-witted Talleyrand ! 

"The Good-natured Man" was performed for ten 
nights in succession ; the third, sixth, and ninth nights 
were for the author's benefit ; the fifth night it was com- 
manded by their Majesties ; after this it was played occa- 
sionally, but rarely, having always pleased more in the 
closet than on the stage. 

As to Kelly's comedy, Johnson pronounced it entirely 
devoid of character, and it has long since passed into 
oblivion. Yet it is an instance how an inferior produc- 
tion, by dint of puffing and trumpeting, may be kept up 
for a time on the surface of popular opinion, or rather of 
popular talk. What had been done for " False Delicacy " 
on the stage was continued by the press. The booksell- 
ers vied with the manager in launching it upon the town. 
They announced that the first impression of three thou- 
sand copies was exhausted before two o'clock on the day 
of publication ; four editions, amounting to ten thousand 
copies, were sold in the course of the season ; a public 
breakfast was given to Kelly at the Chapter Coffee- 
House, and a piece of plate presented to him by the pub 
lishers. The comparative merits of the two plays were 
continually subjects of discussion in green-rooms, coffee- 
houses, and other places where theatrical questions were 
discussed. 



INTERMEDDLING OF THE PRESS. 249 

Goldsmith's old enemy, Kenrick, that " viper of the 
press," endeavored on this, as on many other occasions, 
to detract from his well-earned fame ; the poet was ex- 
cessively sensitive to these attacks, and had not the art 
and self-command to conceal his feelings. 

Some scribblers on the other side insinuated that 
Kelly had seen the manuscript of Goldsmith's play, 
while in the hands of Garrick or elsewhere, and had bor- 
rowed some of the situations and sentiments. Some of 
the wags of the day took a mischievous pleasure in stir- 
ring up a feud between the two authors. Goldsmith be- 
came nettled, though he could scarcely be deemed jeal- 
ous of one so far his inferior. He spoke disparagingly, 
though no doubt sincerely, of Kelly's play : the latter re- 
torted. Still, when they met one day behind the scenes 
of Covent Garden, Goldsmith, with his customary urban- 
ity, congratulated Kelly on his success. " If I thought 
you sincere, Mr. Goldsmith," replied the other, abruptly, 
"I should thank you." Goldsmith was not a man to 
harbor spleen or ill-will, and soon laughed at this un- 
worthy rivalship ; but the jealousy and envy awakened 
in Kelly's mind long continued. He is even accused of 
having given vent to his hostility by anonymous attacks 
in the newspapers, the basest resource of dastardly and 
malignant spirits ; but of this there is no positive proof. 



CHAPTEK XXIII. 

BURNING THE CANDLE AT BOTH ENDS. — FINE APARTMENTS. — FINE FURNITURE. 
— FINE CLOTHES. — FINE ACQUAINTANCES. — SHOEMAKER'S HOLIDAY AND 
JOLLY-PIGEON ASSOCIATES. — PETER BARLOW, GLOVER, AND THE HAMP- 
STEAD HOAX.— POOR FRIENDS AMONG GREAT ACQUAINTANCES. 

Ii ^mu^ :i||HE profits resulting from "The Good-natured 
<t(§fi$*:| Man' 1 were beyond any that Goldsmith had yet 
jB|gfcM : : ; | derived from his works. He netted about four 
hundred pounds from the theatre, and one hundred 
pounds from his publisher. 

Five hundred pounds ! and all at one miraculous 
draught ! It appeared to him wealth inexhaustible. It 
at once opened his heart and hand, and led him into 
all kinds of extravagance. The first symptom was ten 
guineas sent to Shuter for a box-ticket for his benefit, 
when " The Good-natured Man " was to be performed. 
The next was an entire change in his domicil. The shab- 
by lodgings with Jeffs, the butler, in which he had been 
worried by Johnson's scrutiny, were now exchanged for 
chambers more becoming a man of his ample fortune. 
The apartments consisted of three rooms on the second 
floor of No. 2 Brick Court, Middle Temple, on the right 
hand ascending the staircase, and overlooked the umbra- 

250 



FINE APARTMENTS. 251 

geous walks of the Temple garden. The lease he pur- 
chased for ,£400, and then went on to furnish his rooms 
with mahogany sofas, card-tables, and bookcases ; with 
curtains, mirrors, and Wilton carpets. His awkward lit- 
tle person was also furnished out in a style befitting his 
apartment ; for, in addition to his suit of " Tyrian bloom, 
satin grain," we find another charged about this time, in 
the books of Mr. Filby, in no less gorgeous terms, being 
" lined with silk and furnished with gold buttons." Thus 
lodged and thus arrayed, he invited the visits of his most 
aristocratic acquaintances, and no longer quailed beneath 
the courtly eye of Beauclerc. He gave dinners to John- 
son, Reynolds, Percy, Bickerstaff, and other friends of 
note ; and supper-parties to young folks of both sexes. 
These last were preceded by round games of cards, at 
which there was more laughter than skill, and in which 
the sport was to cheat each other ; or by romping games 
of forfeits and blind-man's-buff, at which he enacted the 
lord of misrule. Blackstone, whose chambers were im- 
mediately below, and who was studiously occupied on his 
" Commentaries," used to complain of the racket made 
overhead by his revelling neighbor. 

Sometimes Goldsmith would make up a rural party, 
composed of four or five of his " jolly-pigeon " friends, to 
enjoy what he humorously called a "shoemaker's holi- 
day." These would assemble at his chambers in the 
morning, to partake of a plentiful and rather expensive 
breakfast ; the remains of which, with his customary be- 



252 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

nevolence, lie generally gave to some poor woman in 
attendance. The repast ended, the party would set out 
on foot, in high spirits, making extensive rambles by 
foot-paths and green lanes to Blackheath, Wandsworth, 
Chelsea, Hampton Court, Highgate, or some other pleas- 
ant resort, within a few miles of London. A simple 
but gay and heartily relished dinner, at a country inn, 
crowned the excursion. In the evening they strolled 
back to town, all the better in health and spirits for a 
day spent in rural and social enjoyment. Occasionally, 
when extravagantly inclined, they adjourned from dinner 
to drink tea at the White Conduit House ; and, now and 
then, concluded their festive day by supping at the Gre- 
cian or Temple Exchange Coffee-Houses, or at the Globe 
Tavern, in Fleet Street. The whole expenses of the day 
never exceeded a crown, and were often from three and 
sixpence to four shillings ; for the best part of their en- 
tertainment, sweet air and rural scenes, excellent exer- 
cise and joyous conversation, cost nothing. 

One of Goldsmith's humble companions, on these ex- 
cursions, was his occasional amanuensis, Peter Barlow, 
whose quaint peculiarities afforded much amusement to 
the company. Peter was poor but punctilious, squaring 
his expenses according to his means. He always wore 
the same garb ; fixed his regular expenditure for dinner 
at a trifling sum, which, if left to himself, he never ex- 
ceeded, but which he always insisted on paying. His 
oddities alwayr made him a welcome companion on the 



GLOVER. 253 

"shoemaker's holidays." The dinner, on these occa- 
sions, generally exceeded considerably his tariff; he put 
down, however, no more than his regular sum, and Gold- 
smith made up the difference. 

Another of these hangers-on, for whom, on such occa- 
sions, he was content to " pay the shot," was his country- 
man Glover, of whom mention has already been made as 
one of the wags and sponges of the Globe and Devil tav- 
erns, and a prime mimic at the Wednesday Club. 

This vagabond genius has bequeathed us a whimsical 
story of one of his practical jokes upon Goldsmith, in the 
course of a rural excursion in the vicinity of London. 
They had dined at an inn on Hampstead Heights, and 
were descending the hill, when, in passing a cottage, 
they saw through the open window a party at tea. Gold- 
smith, who was fatigued, cast a wistful glance at the 
cheerful tea-table. "How I should like to be of that 
party," exclaimed he. " Nothing more easy," replied 
Glover ; " allow me to introduce you." So saying, he 
entered the house with an air of the most perfect famili- 
arity, though an utter stranger, and was followed by the 
unsuspecting Goldsmith, who supposed, of course, that 
he was a friend of the family. The owner of the house 
rose on the entrance of the strangers. The undaunted 
Glover shook hands with him in the most cordial man- 
ner possible, fixed his eye on. one of the company who 
had a peculiarly good-natured physiognomy, muttered 
something like a recognition, and forthwith launched 



254 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

into an amusing story, invented at the moment, of some- 
tiling which he pretended had occurred upon the road. 
The host supposed the new-comers were friends of his 
guests ; the guests, that they were friends of the host. 
Glover did not give them time to find out the truth. He 
followed one droll story with another ; brought his 
powers of mimicry into play, and kept the company in a 
roar. Tea was offered and accepted ; an hour went off in 
the most sociable manner imaginable, at the end of 
which Glover bowed himself and his companion out of 
the house with many facetious last words, leaving the 
host and his company to compare notes, and to find out 
what an impudent intrusion they had experienced. 

Nothing could exceed the dismay and vexation of 
Goldsmith when triumphantly told by Glover that it was 
all a hoax, and that he did not know a single soul in the 
house. His first impulse was to return instantly and 
vindicate himself from all participation in the jest ; but a 
few words from his free-and-easy companion dissuaded 
him. "Doctor," said he, coolly, "we are unknown; you 
quite as much as I; if you return and tell the story, it 
will be in the newspapers to-morrow ; nay, upon recol- 
lection, I remember in one of their offices the face of that 
squinting fellow who sat in the corner as if he was 
treasuring up my stories for future use, and we shall be 
sure of being exposed ; let us therefore keep our own 
counsel." 

This story was frequently afterward told by Glover, 



ARISTOCRATIC COMPANIONS. 255 

with rich dramatic effect, repeating and exaggerating the 
conversation, and mimicking, in ludicrous style, the 
embarrassment, surprise, and subsequent indignation of 
Goldsmith. 

It is a trite saying that a wheel cannot run in two ruts ; 
nor a man keep two opposite sets of intimates. Gold- 
smith sometimes found his old friends of the "jolly- 
pigeon" order turning up rather awkwardly when he 
was in company with his new aristocratic acquaintances. 
He gave a whimsical account of the sudden apparition of 
one of them at his gay apartments in the Temple, who 
may have been a welcome visitor at his squalid quarters 
in Green Arbor Court. "How do you think he served 
me ? " said he to a friend. " Why, sir, after staying away 
two years, he came one evening into my chambers, half 
drunk, as I was taking a glass of wine with Topham 
Beauclerc and General Oglethorpe ; and sitting himself 
down, with most intolerable assurance inquired after my 
health and literary pursuits, as if we were upon the most 
friendly footing. I was at first so much ashamed of ever 
having known such a fellow, that I stifled my resentment, 
and drew him into a conversation on such topics as I 
knew he could talk upon ; in which, to do him justice, he 
acquitted himself very reputably ; when all of a sudden, 
as if recollecting something, he pulled two papers out of 
his pocket, which he presented to me with great cere- 
mony, saying, ' here, my dear friend, is a quarter of a 
pound of tea, and a half pound of sugar, I have brought 



256 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

you ; for though it is not in my power at present to pay 
you the two guineas you so generously lent me, you, nor 
any man else, shall ever have it to say that I want grati- 
tude.' This," added Goldsmith, "was too much. I could 
no longer keep in my feelings, but desired him to turu 
out of my chambers directly ; which he very coolly did, 
taking up his tea and sugar ; and I never saw him after- 
wards." 



CHAPTEE XXIV. 

REDUCED AGAIN TO BOOK-BUILDING. — BUBAL RETREAT AT SHOEMAKER'S PAR- 
ADISE. — DEATH OF HENRY GOLDSMITH | TRIBUTES TO HIS MEMORY IN THE 
"DESERTED VILLAGE."" 

^W^ : |HE heedless expenses of Goldsmith, as may 
•^feBjSfej: easily be supposed, soon brought him to the 
jg&mlm en( l °f his " prize-money," but when his purse 
gave out he drew upon futurity, obtaining advances from 
his booksellers and loans from his friends in the confi- 
dent hope of soon turning up another trump. The debts 
which he thus thoughtlessly incurred in consequence of 
a transient gleam of prosperity embarrassed him for the 
rest of his life ; so that the success of the " Good-natured 
Man " may be said to have been ruinous to him. 

He was soon obliged to resume his old craft of book- 
building, and set about his " History of Rome," under- 
taken for Davies. 

It was his custom, as we have shown, during the 
summer-time, when pressed by a multiplicity of literary 
jobs, or urged to the accomplishment of some particular 
task, to take country lodgings a few miles from town, 
generally on the Harrow or Edgeware roads, and bury 
17 - 25? 



258 OLIVER GOLDSMITH, 

himself there for weeks and months together. Sometimes 
he would remain closely occupied in his room, at other 
times he would stroll out along the lanes and hedgerows, 
and taking out paper and pencil, note down thoughts to be 
expanded and connected at home. His summer retreat for 
the present year, 1768, was a little cottage with a garden, 
pleasantly situated about eight miles from town on the 
Edgeware road. He took it in conjunction with a Mr. Ed- 
mund Botts, a barrister and man of letters, his neighbor 
in the Temple, having rooms immediately opposite him 
on the same floor. They had become cordial intimates, 
and Botts was one of those with whom Goldsmith now and 
then took the friendly but pernicious liberty of borrowing. 

The cottage which they had hired belonged to a rich 
shoemaker of Piccadilly, who had embellished his little 
domain of half an acre with statues, and jets, and all the 
decorations of landscape gardening ; in consequence of 
which Goldsmith gave it the name of The Shoemaker's 
Paradise. As his fellow-occupant, Mr. Botts, drove a gig, 
he sometimes, in an interval of literary labor, accom- 
panied him to town, partook of a social dinner there, and 
returned with him in the evening. On one occasion, 
when they had probably lingered too long at the table, 
they came near breaking their necks on their way home- 
ward by driving against a post on the side-walk, while 
Botts was proving by the force of legal eloquence that 
they were in the very middle of the broad Edgeware road. 

In the course of this summer, Goldsmith's career of 



DEATH OF HENRY GOLDSMITH. 259 

gavety was suddenly brought to a pause by intelligence 
of the death of his brother Henry, then but forty-five 
years of age. He had led a quiet and blameless life amid 
the scenes of his youth, fulfilling the duties of Tillage 
pastor with unaffected piety; conducting the school at 
Lissoy with a degree of industry and ability that gave it 
celebrity, and acquitting himself in all the duties of life 
with undeviating rectitude and the mildest benevolence. 
How truly Goldsmith loved and venerated him is evident 
in all his letters and throughout his works ; in which his 
brother continually forms his model for an exemplifica- 
tion of all the most endearing of the Christian virtues ; 
yet his affection at his death was embittered by the fear 
that he died with some doubt upon his mind of the 
warmth of his affection. Goldsmith had been urged by 
his friends in Ireland, since his elevation in the world, 
to use his influence with the great, which they supposed 
to be all-powerful, in favor of Henry, to obtain for him 
church-preferment. He did exert himself as far as his 
diffident nature would permit, but without success ; we 
have seen that, in the case of the Earl of Northumber- 
land, when, as Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, that noble- 
man proffered him his patronage, he asked nothing for 
himself, but only spoke on behalf of his brother. Still 
some of his friends, ignorant of what he had done and of 
how little he was able to do, accused him of negligence. 
It is not likely, however, that his amiable and estimable 
brother joined in the accusation 



260 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

To the tender and melancholy recollections of his early 
days awakened by the death of this loved companion of 
his childhood, we may attribute some of the most heart- 
felt passages in his " Deserted Tillage. " Much of that 
poem we are told was composed this summer, in the 
course of solitary strolls about the green lanes and beau- 
tifully rural scenes of the neighborhood ; and thus much 
of the softness and sweetness of English landscape be- 
came blended with the ruder features of Lissoy. It was 
in these lonely and subdued moments, when tender re- 
gret was half- mingled with self- upbraiding, tnat he 
poured forth that homage of the heart rendered as it 
were at the grave of his brother. The picture of the 
village pastor in this poem, which we have already 
hinted was taken in part from the character of his father, 
embodied likewise the recollections of his brother Hen- 
ry ; for the natures of the father and son seem to have 
been identical. In the following lines, however, Gold- 
smith evidently contrasted the quiet settled life of his 
brother, passed at home in the benevolent exercise of the 
Christian duties, with his own restless vagrant career : — 

" Remote from towns he ran his godly race, 
Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change his place." 

To us the whole character seems traced as it were in an 
expiatory spirit ; as if, conscious of his own wandering 
restlessness, he sought to humble himself at the shrine 
of excellence which he had not been able to practise : — 



TRIBUTE TO HIS MEMORY. 261 

• At church with meek and unaffected grace, 
His looks adorn'd the venerable place; 
Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway, 
And fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray. 
The service past, around the pious man, 
With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran; 
Even children follow'd, with endearing wile, 
And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile: 
His ready smile a parent's warmth express'd, 
Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distress'dj 
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, 
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. 



And, as a bird each fond endearment tries 
To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, 
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way" 



CHAPTER XXV. 



DINNER AT BTCKERSTAFF'S. — HIFFERNAN AND HIS IMPECUNIOSITY. — KEN- 
RICK'S EPIGRAM. — JOHNSON'S CONSOLATION. — GOLDSMITH'S TOILET. — THE 
BLOOM-COLORED COAT. — NEW ACQUAINTANCES ; THE HORNECKS. — A TOUCH 
OF POETRY AND PASSION. — THE JESSAMY BRIDE. 



N October Goldsmith returned to town and re- 
sumed his usual haunts. We hear of him at a 
dinner given by his countryman Isaac Bicker- 
staff, author of "Love in a Village," "Lionel and Cla- 
rissa," and other successful dramatic pieces. The din- 
ner was to be followed by the reading by Bickerstaff of a 
new play. Among the guests was one Paul Hiffernan, 
likewise an Irishman ; somewhat idle and intemperate ; 
who lived nobody knew how nor where, sponging wher- 
ever he had a chance, and often of course upon Gold- 
smith, who was ever the vagabond's friend, or rather 
victim. Hiffernan was something of a physician, and 
elevated the emptiness of his purse into the dignity of a 
disease, which he termed impeeuniosity, and against which 
he claimed a right to call for relief from the healthier 
purses of his friends. He was a scribbler for the news- 
papers, and latterly a dramatic critic, which had proba- 
bly gained him an invitation to the dinner and reading 

262 



KENRICK'S EPIGRAM. 263 

The wine and wassail, however, befogged his senses. 
Scarce had the author got into the second act of his play, 
when Hiffernan began to nod, and at length snored out- 
right. Bickerstaff was embarrassed, but continued to 
read in a more elevated tone. The louder he read, the 
louder Hiffeman snored : until the author came to a 
pause. " Never mind the brute, Bick, but go on," cried 
Goldsmith. " He would have served Homer just so if he 
were here and reading his own works." 

Kenrick, Goldsmith's old enemy, travestied this anec- 
dote in the following lines, pretending that the poet had 
compared his countryman Bickerstaff to Homer. 

"What are your Bretons,- Romans, Grecians, 
Compared with thorough-bred Milesians I 
Step into Griffin's shop, he'll tell ye 
Of Goldsmith, Bickerstaff, and Kelly . . . 
And, take one Irish evidence for t'other, 
Ev'n Homer's self is but their foster-brother." 

Johnson was a rough consoler to a man when wincing 
under an attack of this kind. " Never mind, sir," said he 
to Goldsmith, when he saw that he felt the sting. "A 
man whose business it is to be talked of is much helped 
by being attacked. Fame, sir, is a shuttlecock ; if it be 
struck only at one end of the room, it will soon fall to 
the ground ; to keep it up, it must be struck at both 
ends." 

Bickerstaff, at the time of which we are speaking, was 
in high vogue, the associate of the first wits of the day ; 



264 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

a few years afterwards he was obliged to fly the country 
to escape the punishment of an infamous crime. John- 
son expressed great astonishment at hearing the offence 
for which he had fled. "Why, sir?" said Thrale; "he 
had long been a suspected man." Perhaps there was a 
knowing look on the part of the eminent brewer, which 
provoked a somewhat contemptuous reply. "By those 
who look close to the ground," said Johnson, " dirt will 
sometimes be seen ; I hope I see things from a greater 
distance." 

We have already noticed the improvement, or rather 
the increased expense, of Goldsmith's wardrobe since his 
elevation into polite society. " He was fond," says one 
of his contemporaries, " of exhibiting his muscular little 
person in the gayest apparel of the day, to which was 
added a bag-wig and sword." Thus arrayed, he used to 
figure about in the sunshine in the Temple Gardens, 
much to his own satisfaction, but to the amusement of 
his acquaintances. 

Boswell, in his memoirs, has rendered one of his suits 
forever famous. That worthy, on the 16th of October in 
this same year, gave a dinner to Johnson, Goldsmith, 
Beynolds, Garrick, Murphy, Bickerstaff, and Davies. 
Goldsmith was generally apt to bustle in at the last mo- 
ment, when the guests were taking their seats at table ; 
but on this occasion he was unusually early. While 
waiting for some lingerers to arrive, " he strutted about," 
says Boswell, "bragging of his dress, and I believe was 



THE BROOM-COLORED COAT. 265 

seriously vain of it, for his mind was undoubtedly prone 
to such impressions. 'Come, come,' said Garrick, 'talk 
no more of that. You are perhaps the worst — eh, eh ? ' 
Goldsmith was eagerly attempting to interrupt him, when 
Garrick went on, laughing ironically. 'Nay, you will 
always look like a gentleman ; but I am talking of your 
being well or ill dressed.' 'Well, let me tell you,' said 
Goldsmith, ' when the tailor brought home my bloom- 
colored coat, he said, " Sir, I have a fayor to beg of you ; 
when anybody asks you who made your clothes, be 
pleased to mention John Filby, at the Harrow, in Water 
Lane.' " 'Why, sir,' cried Johnson, 'that was because he 
knew the strange color would attract crowds to gaze at 
it, and thus they might hear of him, and see how well he 
could make a coat of so absurd a color.' " 

But though Goldsmith might permit this raillery on 
the part of his friends, he was quick to resent any per- 
sonalities of the kind from strangers. As he was one 
day walking the Strand in grand array with bag- wig and 
sword, he excited the merriment of two coxcombs, one of 
whom called to the other to " look at that fly with a long 
pin stuck through it." Stung to the quick, Goldsmith's 
first retort was to caution the passers-by to be on their 
guard against "that brace of disguised pickpockets," — 
his next was to step into the middle of the street, where 
there was room for action, half-draw his sword, and 
beckon the joker, who was armed in like manner, to fol- 
low him. This was literally a war of wit which the other 



266 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

had not anticipated. He had no inclination to push the 
joke to such an extreme, but abandoning the ground, 
sneaked off with his brother-wag amid the hootings of 
the spectators. 

This proneness to finery in dress, however, which Bos- 
well and others of Goldsmith's contemporaries, who did 
not understand the secret plies of his character, attributed 
to vanity, arose, we are convinced, from a widely different 
motive. It was from a painful idea of his own personal 
defects, which had been cruelly stamped upon his mind 
in his boyhood, by the sneers and jeers of his playmates? 
and had been grounded deeper into it by rude speeches 
made to him in every step of his struggling career, until 
it had become a constant cause of awkwardness and em- 
barrassment. This he had experienced the more sensibly 
since his reputation had elevated him into polite society ; 
and he was constantly endeavoring by the aid of dress to 
acquire that personal acceptability, if we may use the 
phrase, which nature had denied him. If ever he be- 
trayed a little self-complacency on first turning out in a 
new suit, it may, perhaps, have been because he felt as if 
he had achieved a triumph over his ugliness. 

There were circumstances too, about the time of 
which we are treating, which may have rendered Gold- 
smith more than usually attentive to his personal appear- 
ance. He had recently made the acquaintance of a most 
agreeable family from Devonshire, which he met at the 
house of his friend, Sir Joshua Keynolds. It consisted 



THE HORXECKS. 267 

of Mrs. Horneck, widow of Captain Kane Horneck ; two 
daughters, seventeen and nineteen years of age ; and an 
only son, Charles, the Captain in Lace, as his sisters play- 
fully and somewhat proudly called him, he having lately 
entered the Guards. The daughters are described as 
uncommonly beautiful, intelligent, sprightly, and agree- 
able. Catharine, the eldest, went among her friends by 
the name of Little Comedy, indicative, very probably, of 
her disposition. She was engaged to William Henry 
Bunbury, second son of a Suffolk baronet. The hand and 
heart of her sister Mary were yet unengaged, although 
she bore the by-name among her friends of the Jessamy 
Bride. This family was prepared, by their intimacy with 
Reynolds and his sister, to appreciate the merits of 
Goldsmith. The poet had always been a chosen friend 
of the eminent painter ; and Miss Reynolds, as we have 
shown, ever since she had heard his poem of " The Trav- 
eller " read aloud, had ceased to consider him ugly. The 
Hornecks were equally capable of forgetting his person 
in admiring his works. On becoming acquainted with 
him, too, they were delighted with his guileless simplici- 
ty, his buoyant good-nature, and his innate benevolence ; 
and an enduring intimacy soon sprang up between them. 
For once poor Goldsmith had met with polite society, 
with which he was perfectly at home, and by which he 
was fully appreciated ; for once he had met with lovely 
women, to whom his ugly features were not repulsive. A 
proof of the easy and playful terms in which he was with 



268 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

them, remains in a whimsical epistle in verse, of which 
the following was the occasion. A dinner was to be given 
to their family by a Dr. Baker, a friend of their mother's, 
at which Reynolds and Angelica Kauffman were to be 
present. The young ladies were eager to have Goldsmith 
of the party, and their intimacy with Dr. Baker allowing 
them to take the liberty, they wrote a joint invitation to 
the poet at the last moment. It came too late, and drew 
from him the following reply ; on the top of which was 
scrawled, " This is a poem ! This is a copy of verses ! " 



" Your mandate I got. 
You may all go to pot ; 
Had your senses been right, 
You'd have sent before night : 
So tell Horneck and Nesbitt, 
And Baker and his bit, 
And Kauffman beside, 
And the Jessamy Bride, 
With the rest of the crew, 
The Reynoldses too, 



Little Comedy's face, 
And the Captain in Lace, — 
Tell each other to rue 
Your Devonshire crew, 
For sending so late 
To one of my state. 
But 'tis Reynolds's way 
From wisdom to stay, 
And Angelica's whim 
To bef rolic like him ; 



But alas ! your good worships, how could they be wiser, 
When both have been spoil'd in to-day's ' Advertiser ' ? n * 

* The following lines had appeared in that day's ' 'Advertiser, ' on the 
portrait of Sir Joshua by Angelica Kauffman : — 

" While fair Angelica, with matchless grace, 
Paints Conway's burly form and Stanhope's face: 
Our hearts to beauty willing homage pay, 
We praise, admire, and gaze our souls away. 
But when the likeness she hath done for thee, 
Reynolds ! with astonishment we see, 
Forced to submit, with all our pride we own, 
Such strength, such harmony, excelled by none, 
And thou art rivalled by thyself alone.'* 



THE JE8SAMY BRIBE. 269 

It has been intimated that the intimacy of poor Gold- 
smith with the Miss Hornecks, which began in so 
sprightly a vein, gradually assumed something of a more 
tender nature, and that he was not insensible to the fas- 
cinations of the younger sister. This may account for 
some of the phenomena which about this time appeared 
in his wardrobe and toilet. During the first year of his 
acquaintance with these lovely girls, the tell-tale book of 
his tailor, Mr. William Filby, displays entries of four or 
five full suits, besides separate articles of dress. Among 
the items we find a green half- trimmed frock and 
breeches, lined with silk ; a queen's-blue dress suit ; a 
half-dress suit of ratteen, lined with satin ; a pair of silk 
stocking-breeches, and another pair of a bloom-color. 
Alas ! poor Goldsmith ! how much of this silken finery 
was dictated, not by vanity, but humble consciousness 
of thy defects ; how much of it was to atone for the un- 
couthness of thy person, and to win favor in the eyes of 
the Jessamy Bride ! 



CHAPTEK XXVI 



GOLDSMITH IN THE TEMPLE. — JUDGE DAY AND GRATTAN- — LABOR AND DlSfc. 
PATION. — PUBLICATION OF THE ROMAN HISTORY. — OPINIONS OF IT.— " HIS 
TORY OF ANIMATED NATURE." — TEMPLE ROOKERY. — ANECDOTES OF A 
SPIDER. 




|N the winter of 1768-69 Goldsmith occupied 
himself at his quarters in the Temple, slowly 
"building up" his Roman History. We have 
pleasant views of him in this learned and half-cloistered 
retreat of wits and lawyers and legal students, in the rem- 
iniscences of Judge Day of the Irish Bench, who, in his 
advanced age, delighted to recall the days of his youth, 
when he was a Templar, and to speak of the kindness 
with which he and his fellow - student, Grattan, were 
treated by the poet. " I was just arrived from college," 
said he, " full freighted with academic gleanings, and our 
author did not disdain to receive from me some opinions 
and hints towards his Greek and Roman histories. Be- 
ing then a young man, I felt much flattered by the notice 
of so celebrated a person. He took great delight in the 
conversation of Grattan, whose brilliancy in the morning 
of life furnished full earnest of the unrivalled splendor 
which awaited his meridian ; and finding us dwelling to« 

270 



LABOR AND DISSIPATION. 271 

getlier in Essex Court, near himself, where he frequently 
visited my immortal friend, his warm heart became natu- 
rally prepossessed towards the associate of one whom he 
so much admired." 

The Judge goes on, in his reminiscences, to give a pic- 
ture of Goldsmith's social habits, similar in style to those 
already furnished. He frequented much the Grecian 
CofTee-House, then the favorite resort of the Irish and 
Lancashire Teniplars. He delighted in collecting his 
friends around him at evening parties at his chambers, 
where he entertained them with a cordial and unosten- 
tatious hospitality. " Occasionally," adds the Judge, 
" he amused them with his flute, or with whist, neither 
of which he played well, particularly the latter, but, on " 
losing his money, he never lost his temper. In a run of 
bad luck and worse play, he would fling his cards upon 
the floor and exclaim, ' Bye/ore George, I ought forever 
to renounce thee, fickle, faithless fortune.' " 

The Judge was aware, at the time, that all the learned 
labor of poor Goldsmith upon his Roman History was 
mere hack-work to recruit his exhausted finances. " His 
purse replenished," adds he, "by labors of this kind, the 
season of relaxation and pleasure took its turn, in attend- 
ing the theatres, Eanelagh, Yauxhall, and other scenes 
.rf gayety and amusement. Whenever his funds were 
dissipated, — and they fled more rapidly from being the 
dupe of many artful persons, male and female, who prac- 
tised upon his benevolence, — he returned to his literary 



272 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

labors, and shut himself up from society to provide fresh 
matter for his bookseller, and fresh supplies for himself." 

How completely had the young student discerned the 
characteristics of poor, genial, generous, drudging, holi- 
day-loving Goldsmith ; toiling, that he might play ; earn- 
ing his bread by the sweat of his brains, and then throw- 
ing it out of the window. 

The Roman History was published in the middle of 
May, in two volumes of five hundred pages each. It was 
brought out without parade or pretension, and was an- 
nounced as for the use of schools and colleges ; but, 
though a work written for bread, not fame, such is its 
ease, perspicuity, good sense, and the delightful simplic- 
ity of its style, that it was well received by the critics, 
commanded a prompt and extensive sale, and has ever 
since remained in the hands of young and old. 

Johnson, who, as we have before remarked, rarely 
praised or dispraised things by halves, broke forth in a 
warm eulogy of the author and the work, in a conversa- 
tion with Boswell, to the great astonishment of the latter. 
" Whether we take Goldsmith," said he, " as a poet, as a 
comic writer, or as an historian, he stands in the first 
class." Boswell. — "An historian! My dear sir, you 
surely will not rank his compilation of the Roman His- 
tory with the works of other historians of this age." 
Johnson. — " Why, who are before him ? " Boswell. — 
" Hume — Robertson — Lord Lyttelton." Johnson (his an- 
tipathy against the Scotch beginning to rise). — " I have 



OPINIONS ON " THE SOMAN HISTORY." 273 

not read Hume ; but doubtless Goldsmith's History is 
better than the verbiage of Robertson, or the foppery of 
Dairy niple." Boswell. — " "Will you not admit the superi- 
ority of Robertson, in whose history we find such pene- 
tration, such painting ? " Johnson. — " Sir, you must 
consider how that penetration and that painting are em- 
ployed. It is not history, it is imagination. He who 
describes what he never saw, draws from fancy. Robert- 
son paints minds as Sir Joshua paints faces, in a history- 
piece ; he imagines an heroic countenance. You must 
look upon Robertson's work as romance, and try it by 
that standard. History it is not. Besides, sir, it is the 
great excellence of a writer to put into his book as much 
as his book will hold. Goldsmith has done this in his 
History. Now Robertson might have put twice as much 
in his book. Robertson is like a man who has packed 
gold in wool; the wool takes up more room than the 
gold. No, sir, I always thought Robertson would be 
crushed with his own weight — would be buried under his 
own ornaments. Goldsmith tells you shortly all you 
want to know; Robertson detains you a great deal too 
long. No man will read Robertson's cumbrous detail a 
second time ; but Goldsmith's plain narrative will please 
again and again. I would say to Robertson what an old 
tutor of a college said to one of his pupils, * Read over 
your compositions, and whenever you meet with a pas- 
sage which you think is particularly fine, strike it out ! ' 
Goldsmith's abridgment is better than that of Lucius 
18 



274 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

Florus or Eutropius ; and I will venture to say. that, if 
you compare him with Vertot in the same places of the 
Eoman History, you will find that he excels Vertot. Sir, 
he has the art of compiling, and of saying everything he 
has to say in a pleasing manner. He is now writing a 
Natural History, and will make it as entertaining as a 
Persian tale." 

The Natural History to which Johnson alluded was 
the " History of Animated Nature," which Goldsmith 
commenced in 1769, under an engagement with Griffin, 
the bookseller, to complete it as soon as possible in eight 
volumes, each containing upwards of four hundred pages, 
in pica ; a hundred guineas to be paid to the author on 
the delivery of each volume in manuscript. 

He was induced to engage in this work by the urgent 
solicitations of the booksellers, who had been struck by 
the sterling merits and captivating style of an introduc- 
tion which he wrote to Brookes's "Natural History." It 
was Goldsmith's intention originally to make a transla- 
tion of Pliny, with a popular commentaiy ; but the ap- 
pearance of Buffon's work induced him to change his 
plan, and make use of that author for a guide and model. 

Cumberland, speaking of this work, observes : " Dis- 
tress drove Goldsmith upon undertakings neither con- 
genial with his studies nor worthy of his talents. I re- 
member him when, in his chambers in the Temple, he 
showed me the beginning of his ' Animated Nature ' ; it 
was with a sigh, such as genius draws when hard neces- 






HISTORY OF "ANIMATED NATURE." 275 

sity diverts it from its bent to drudge for bread, and talk 
of birds, and beasts, and creeping things, which Pidock's 
showman would have done as well. Poor fellow, he 
hardly knows an ass from a mule, nor a turkey from a 
goose, but when he sees it on the table." 

Others of Goldsmith's friends entertained similar ideas 
with respect to his fitness for the task, and they were apt 
now and then to banter him on the subject, and to amuse 
themselves with his easy credulity. The custom among 
the natives of Otaheite of eating dogs being once men- 
tioned in company, Goldsmith observed that a similar 
custom prevailed in China ; that a dog-butcher is as 
common there as any other butcher ; and that, when he 
walks abroad, all the dogs fall on him. Johnson. — 
" That is not owing to his killing dogs ; sir, I remember 
a butcher at Litchfield, whom a dog that was in the 
house where I lived always attacked. It is the smell of 
carnage which provokes this, let the animals he has 
killed be what they may." Goldsmith. — "Yes, there is 
a general abhorrence in animals at the signs of massacre. 
If you put a tub full of blood into a stable, the horses 
are likely to go mad." Johnson. — " I doubt that." — 
Goldsmith. — "Nay, sir, it is a fact well authenticated." 
Thrale. — " You had better prove it before you put it into 
your book on Natural History. You may do it in my 
stable if you will." Johnson.— " Nay, sir, I would not 
have him prove it. If he is content to take his informa- 
tion from others, he may get through his book with little 



276 OLIVER GOLDSMITH, 

trouble, and without much endangering his reputation, 
But if he makes experiments for so comprehensive a 
book as his, there would be no end to them ; his erro- 
neous assertions would fall then upon himself; and he 
might be blamed for not having made experiments as to 
every particular." 

Johnson's original prediction, however, with respect 
to this work, that Goldsmith would make it as enter- 
taining as a Persian tale, was verified, and though much 
of it was borrowed from Buffon, and but little of it writ- 
ten from his own observation, — though it was by no 
means profound, and was chargeable with many errors, 
yet the charms of his style and the play of his happy 
disposition throughout have continued to render it far 
more popular and readable than many works on the sub- 
ject of much greater scope and science. Cumberland 
was mistaken, however, in his notion of Goldsmith's ig- 
norance and lack of observation as to the characteristics 
of animals. On the contrary, he was a minute and 
shrewd observer of them ; but he observed them with 
the eye of a poet and moralist as well as a naturalist. 
We quote two passages from his works illustrative of 
this fact, and we do so the more readily because they are 
in a manner a part of his history, and give us another 
peep into his private life in the Temple, — of his mode oi 
occupying himself in his lonely and apparently idle mo- 
ments, and of another class of acquaintances which he 
made there. 



TEMPLE ROOKERY. 271 

Speaking in his " Animated Nature " of the habitudes 
of Rooks, "I have often amused myself," says he, "with 
observing their plans of policy from my window in the 
Teniple, that looks upon a grove, where they have made 
a colony in the midst of a city. At the commencement of 
spring the rookery, which during the continuance of win- 
ter seemed to have been deserted, or only guarded by 
about five or six, like old soldiers in a garrison, now be- 
gins to be once more frequented, and in a short time all 
the bustle and hurry of business will be fairly com- 
menced." 

. The other passage, which we take the liberty to quote 
at some length, is from an admirable paper in the "Bee," 
and relates to the House Spider. 

" Of all the solitary insects I have ever remarked, the 
spider is the most sagacious, and its motions to me, who 
have attentively considered them, seem almost to exceed 

belief I perceived, about four years ago, a large 

spider in one corner of my room making its web ; and, 
though the maid frequently levelled her broom against 
the labors of the little animal, I had the good fortune 
then to prevent its destruction, and I may say it more 
than paid me by the entertainment it afforded. 

" In three days the web was, with incredible diligence, 
completed; nor could I avoid thinking that the insect 
seemed to exult in its new abode. It frequently tra- 
versed it round, examined the strength of every part of 
it, retired into its hole, and came out very frequently. 



278 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

The first enemy, however, it had to encounter was an- 
other and a much larger spider, which, having no web of 
its own, and having probably exhausted all its stock in 
former labors of this kind, came to invade the property 
of its neighbor. Soon, then, a terrible encounter ensued, 
in which the invader seemed to have the victory, and the 
laborious spider was obliged to take refuge in its hole. 
Upon this I perceived the victor using every art to draw 
the enemy from its stronghold. He seemed to go off, 
but quickly returned ; and when he found all arts in vain, 
began to demolish the new web without mercy. This 
brought on another battle, and, contrary to my expecta- 
tions, the laborious spider became conqueror, and fairly 
killed his antagonist. 

" Now, then, in peaceable possession of what was just- 
ly its own, it waited three days with the utmost im- 
patience, repairing the breaches of its web, and taking 
no sustenance that I could perceive. At last, however, 
a large blue fly fell into the snare, and struggled hard to 
get loose. The spider gave it leave to entangle itself as 
much as possible, but it seemed to be too strong for the 
cobweb. I must own I was greatly surprised when I saw 
the spider immediately sally out, and in less than a 
minute weave a new net round its captive, by which the 
motion of its wings was stopped ; and, when it was fairly 
hampered in this manner, it was seized and dragged into 
the hole. 

" In this manner it lived, in a precarious state ; and 



ANECDOTES OF A SPIDER. 279 

Nature seemed to have fitted it for such a life, for upon 
a single fly it subsisted for more than a week. I once 
put a wasp into the net ; but when the spider came out 
in order to seize it as usual, upon perceiving what kind 
of an enemy it had to deal with, it instantly broke all the 
bands that held it fast, and contributed all that lay in its 
power to disengage so formidable an antagonist. When 
the wasp was set at liberty, I expected the spider would 
have set about repairing the breaches that were made in 
its net; bat those, it seems, were irrejjarable ; wherefore 
the cobweb was now entirely forsaken, and a new one he- 
gun, which was completed in the usual time. 

" I had now a mind to try how many cobwebs a single 
spider could furnish ; wherefore I destroyed this, and the 
insect set about another. When I destroyed the other 
also, its whole stock seemed entirely exhausted, and it 
could spin no more. The arts it made use of to support 
itself, now deprived of its great means of subsistence, 
were indeed surprising. I have seen it roll up its legs 
like a ball, and lie motionless for hours together, but 
cautiously watching all the time ; when a fly happened 
to approach sufficiently near, it would dart out all at 
once, and often seize its prey. 

" Of this life, however, it soon began to grow weary, 
and resolved to invade the possession of some other spi- 
der, since it could not make a web of its own. It formed 
an attack upon a neighboring fortification with great 
vigor, and at first was as vigorously repulsed. Not 



280 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

daunted, however, with one defeat, in this manner it con- 
tinued to lay siege to another's web for three days, and 
at length, having killed the defendant, actually took pos- 
session. When smaller flies happen to fall into the snare, 
the spider does not sally out at once, but very patiently 
waits till it is sure of them ; for, upon his immediately 
approaching, the terror of his appearance might give the 
captive strength sufficient to get loose ; the manner, then, 
is to wait 'patiently, till, by ineffectual and impotent 
struggles, the captive has wasted all its strength, and 
then he becomes a certain and easy conquest. 

" The insect I am now describing lived three years ; 
every year it changed its skin and got a new set of legs. 
I have sometimes plucked off a leg, which grew again in 
two or three days. At first it dreaded my approach to 
its web, but at last it became so familiar as to take a fly 
out of my hand; and, upon my touching any part of the 
web, would immediately leave its hole, prepared either 
for a defence or an attack." 



CHAPTEK XXVn. 

HONORS AT THE ROYAL ACADEMY. — LETTER TO HIS BROTHER MAURICE. — 
FAMILY FORTUNES.— JANE CONTARINE AND THE MINIATURE. — PORTRAITS 
AND ENGRAVINGS. — SCHOOL ASSOCIATIONS. — JOHNSON AND GOLDSMITH IN 
WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 

pflpjpHE latter part of the year 1768 had been made 
:WKjp£j : memorable in the world of taste by the institu- 
jj§SJj| : : !| tion of the Boyal Academy of Arts, under the 
patronage of the King, and the direction of forty of the 
most distinguished artists. Eeynolds, who had been 
mainly instrumental in founding it, had been unani- 
mously elected president, and had thereupon received 
the honor of knighthood.* Johnson was so delighted 
with his friend's elevation, that he broke through a rule 
of total abstinence with respect to wine, which he had 
maintained for several years, and drank bumpers on the 
occasion. Sir Joshua eagerly sought to associate his old 
and valued friends with him in his new honors, and it is 
supposed to be through his suggestions that, on the first 

* We must apologize for the anachronism we have permitted ourselves 
in the course of this memoir, in speaking of Reynolds as Sir Joshua, 
when treating of circumstances which occurred prior to his being 
dubbed ; but it is so customary to speak of him by that title, that we 
found it difficult to dispense with it. 

281 



282. OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

establishment of professorships, which took place in 
December, 1769, Johnson was nominated to that of An- 
cient Literature, and Goldsmith to that of History. 
They were mere honorary titles, without emolument, but 
gave distinction, from the noble institution to which they 
appertained. They also gave the possessors honorable 
places at the annual banquet, at which were assembled 
many of the most distinguished persons of rank and tal- 
ent, all proud to be classed among the patrons of the arts. 
The following letter of Goldsmith to his brother al- 
ludes to the foregoing appointment, and to a small legacy 
bequeathed to him by his uncle Contarine. 

*' To Mr. Maurice Goldsmith, at James Lawder's, Esq., at 
Kilmore, near Car rick-on- Shannon. 

"January, 1770. 
" Dear Brother, — I should have answered your letter 
sooner, but, in truth, I am not fond of thinking of the 
necessities of those I love, when it is so very little in my 
power to help them. I am sorry to find you are every 
way unprovided for ; and what adds to my uneasiness is, 
that I have received a letter from my sister Johnson, by 
which I learn that she is pretty much in the same cir- 
cumstances. As to myself, I believe I think I could get 
both you and my poor brother-in-law something like that 
which you desire, but I am determined never to ask for 
little things, nor exhaust any little interest I may have, 
until I can serve you, him, and myself more effectually. 



LETTER TO MAURICE GOLDSMITH. 283 

As yet, no opportunity lias offered ; but I believe you are 
pretty well convinced that I will not be remiss when it 
arrives. 

" The King has lately been pleased to make me profes- 
sor of Ancient History in the royal academy of painting 
which he has just established, but there is no salary an- 
nexed ; and I took it rather as a compliment to the Insti- 
tution than any benefit to myself. Honors to one in my sit- 
uation are something like ruffles to one that wants a shirt. 

" You tell me that there are fourteen or fifteen pounds 
left me in the hands of my cousin Lawder, and you ask 
me what I would have done with them. My dear 
brother, I would by no means give any directions to my 
dear worthy relations at Kilmore how to dispose of 
money which is, properly speaking, more theirs than 
mine. All that I can say is, that I entirely, and this 
letter will serve to witness, give up any right and title to 
it ; and I am sure they will dispose of it to the best ad- 
vantage. To them I entirely leave it ; whether they or 
you may think the whole necessary to fit you out, or 
whether our poor sister Johnson may not want the half, 
I leave entirely to their and your discretion. The kind- 
ness of that good couple to our shattered family demands 
our sincerest gratitude ; and, though they have almost 
forgotten me, yet, if good things at last arrive, I hope 
one day to return and increase their good-humor by add- 
ing to my own. 

" I have sent my cousin Jenny a miniature picture ol 



284 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

myself, as I believe it is the most acceptable present I 
can offer. I have ordered it to be left for her at George 
Faulkner's, folded in a letter. The face, you well know, 
is ugly enough, but it is finely painted. I will shortly 
also send my friends over the Shannon some mezzotinto 
prints of myself, and some more of my friends here, such 
as Burke, Johnson, Reynolds, and Colman. I believe I 
have written a hundred letters to different friends in 
your country, and never received an answer to any of 
them. I do not know how to account for this, or why 
they are unwilling to keep up for me those regards 
which I must ever retain for them. 

" If, then, you have a mind to oblige me, you will write 
often, whether I answer you or not. Let me particularly 
have the news of our family and old acquaintances. For 
instance, you may begin by telling me about the fam- 
ily where you reside, how they spend their time, and 
whether they ever make mention of me. Tell me about 
my mother, my brother Hodson and his son, my brother 
Harry's son and daughter, my sister Johnson, the family 
of Bally oughter, what is become of them, where they live, 
and how they do. You talked of being my only brother : 
I don't understand you. Where is Charles? A sheet 
of paper occasionally filled with the news of this kind 
would make me very happy, and would keep you nearer 
my mind. As it is, my dear brother, believe me to be 
"Yours, most affectionately, 

"Oliver Goldsmith." 



A "SHATTERED FAMILY." 285 

By this letter we find the Goldsmiths the same shift- 
ing, shiftless race as formerly ; a " shattered family," 
scrambling on each other's back as soon as any rise 
above the surface. Maurice is " every way unprovided 
for"; living upon cousin Jane and her husband; and, 
perhaps, amusing himself by hunting otter in the river 
Inny. Sister Johnson and her husband are as poorly off 
as Maurice, with, perhaps, no one at hand to quarter 
themselves upon ; as to the rest, " what is become of 
them ? where do they live ? and how do they do ? what 
has become of Charles ? " What forlorn, hap-hazard life 
is implied by these questions ! Can we wonder that, with 
all the love for his native place, which is shown through- 
out Goldsmith's writings, he had not the heart to return 
there ? Yet his affections are still there. He wishes to 
know whether the Lawders (which means his cousin 
Jane, his early Valentine) ever made mention of him ; he 
sends Jane his miniature ; he believes "it is the most 
acceptable present he can offer " ; he evidently, therefore, 
does not believe she has almost forgotten him, although 
he intimates that he does : in his memory she is still 
Jane Contarine, as he last saw her, when he accompanied 
her harpsichord with his flute. Absence, like death, sets a 
seal on the image of those we have loved ; we cannot real- 
ize the intervening changes which time may have effected 

As to the rest of Goldsmith's relatives, he abandons 
his legacy of fifteen pounds, to be shared among them. 
It is all he has to give. His heedless improvidence is 



286 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

eating up the pay of the booksellers in advance. "With 
all his literary success, he has neither money nor influ- 
ence ; but he has empty fame, and he is ready to partici- 
pate with them ; he is honorary professor, without pay ; 
his portrait is to be engraved in mezzotint, in company 
with those of his friends, Burke, Reynolds, Johnson, Col- 
man, and others, and he will send prints of them to his 
friends over the Channel, though they may not have a 
house to hang them up in. What a motley letter ! How 
indicative of the motley character of the writer ! By the 
by, the publication of a splendid mezzotinto engraving of 
his likeness by Reynolds was a great matter of glorifica- 
tion to Goldsmith, especially as it appeared in such illus- 
trious company. As he was one day walking the streets 
in a state of high elation, from having just seen it figuring 
in the print-shop windows, he met a young gentleman 
with a newly married wife hanging on his arm, whom he 
immediately recognized for Master Bishop, one of the 
boys he had petted and treated with sweetmeats when a 
humble usher at Milner's school. The kindly feelings of 
old times revived, and he accosted him with cordial 
familiarity, though the youth may have found some diffi- 
culty in recognizing in the personage, arrayed, perhaps, 
in garments of Tyrian dye, the dingy pedagogue of the 
Milners. " Come, my boy," cried Goldsmith, as if still 
speaking to a school-boy, — " come, Sam, I am delighted 
to see you. I must treat you to something — what shall 
it be ? Will you have some apples ? " glancing at an old 



— 



GOLDSMITH'S PORTRAIT. 287 

woman's stall ; then, recollecting the print-shop window : 
"Sam," said he, "have you seen my picture by Sir 
Joshua Reynolds ? Have you seen it, Sam ? Have you 
got an engraving ? " Bishop was caught ; he equivocated ; 
he had not yet bought it; but he was furnishing his 
house, and had fixed upon the place where it was to be 
hung. "Ah, Sam!" rejoined Goldsmith reproachfully, 
" if your picture had been published, I should not have 
waited an hour without having it." 

After all, it was honest pride, not vanity, in Goldsmith, 
that was gratified at seeing his portrait deemed worthy 
of being perpetuated by the classic pencil of Reynolds, 
and "hung up in history" beside that of his revered 
friend Johnson. Even the great moralist himself was 
not insensible to a feeling of this kind. Walking one day 
with Goldsmith, in Westminster Abbey, among the tombs 
of monarchs, warriors, and statesmen, they came to the 
sculptured mementos of literary worthies in poets' cor- 
ner. Casting his ^ye round upon these memorials of 
genius, Johnson muttered in a low tone to his com- 
panion, — 

"Forsitan et nostrum nomen miscebitur istis." 

Goldsmith treasured up the intimated hope, and shortly 
afterwards, as they were passing by Temple Bar, where 
the heads of Jacobite rebels, executed for treason, were 
mouldering aloft on spikes, pointed up to the grizzly me^ 
mentos, and echoed the intimation, 

" Forsitan et nostrum nomen miscebitur istis." 




CHAPTEK XXYm. 

PUBLICATION OF THE " DESERTED VILLAGE ; " NOTICES AND ILLUSTRATIONS 
OF IT. 

SEVERAL years had now elapsed since the pub- 
lication of " The Traveller," and much wonder 
was expressed that the great success of that 
poem had not excited the author to further poetic at- 
tempts. On being questioned at the annual dinner of 
the Royal Academy by the Earl of Lisburn, why he neg- 
lected the Muses to compile histories and write novels, 
" My Lord," replied he, " by courting the Muses I shall 
starve, but by my other labors I eat, drink, have good 
clothes, and can enjoy the luxuries of life." So, also, on 
being asked by a poor writer what was the most profita- 
ble mode of exercising the pen, — " My dear fellow," re- 
plied he, good-humoredly, " pay no regard to the draggle- 
tailed Muses ; for my part I have found productions in 
prose much more sought after and better paid for." 

Still, however, as we have heretofore shown, he found 
sweet moments of dalliance to steal away from his pro- 
saic toils, and court the Muse among the green lanes and 
hedge-rows in the rural environs of London, and on the 



THE -DESERTED VILLAGE." 289 

26th of May, 1770, he was enabled to bring his " Deserted 
Village " before the public. 

The popularity of " The Traveller " had prepared the 
way for this poem, and its sale was instantaneous and 
immense. The first edition was immediately exhausted ; 
in a few days a second was issued ; in a few days more a 
third, and by the 16th of August the fifth edition was 
hurried through the press. As is the case with popular 
writers, he had become his own rival, and critics were 
inclined to give the preference to his first poem ; but 
with the public at large we believe the " Deserted Vil- 
lage " has ever been the greatest favorite. Previous to 
its publication the bookseller gave him in advance a note 
for the price agreed upon, one hundred guineas. As the 
latter was returning home he met a friend to whom he 
mentioned the circumstance, and who, apparently judg- 
ing of poetry by quantity rather than quality, observed 
that it was a great sum for so small a poem. " In truth," 
said Goldsmith, " I think so too ; it is much more than 
the honest man can afford or the piece is worth. I have 
not been easy since I received it." In fact, he actually 
returned the note to the bookseller, and left it to him to 
graduate the payment according to the success of the 
work. The bookseller, as may well be supposed, soon 
repaid him in full with many acknowledgments of his dis- 
interestedness. This anecdote has been called in ques- 
tion, we know not on what grounds ; we see nothing in it 
incompatible with the character of Goldsmith, who was 
19 



290 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

very impulsive, and prone to acts of inconsiderate gen- 
erosity. 

As we do not pretend in this summary memoir to go 
into a criticism or analysis of any of Goldsmith's writ- 
ings; we shall not dwell upon the peculiar merits of this 
poem ; we cannot help noticing, however, how truly it is 
a mirror of the author's heart, and of all the fond pic- 
tures of early friends and early life forever present there, 
It seems to us as if the very last accounts received from 
home, of his " shattered family," and the desolation that 
seemed to have settled upon the haunts of his childhood, 
had cut the roots of one feebly cherished hope, and pro- 
duced the following exquisitely tender and mournful 
lines : — 

" In all my wand'rings round this world of care, 
In all my griefs— and God has giv'n my share— 
I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, 
Amid these humble bowers to lay me down; 
To husband out life's taper at the close, 
And keep the flame from wasting by repose; 
I still had hopes, for pride attends us still, 
Amid the swains to show my book-learn'd skill, 
Around my fire an ev'ning group to draw. 
And tell of all I felt and all I saw ; 
And as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue, 
Pants to the place from whence at first she flew; 
I still had hopes, my long vexations past, 
Here to return — and die at home at last." 

How touchingly expressive are the succeeding lines, 



EXTRACT. 291 

wrung from a heart which all the trials and temptations 
and buffetings of the world could not render worldly ; 
which, amid a thousand follies and errors of the head, 
still retained its childlike innocence ; and which, doomed 
to struggle on to the last amidst the din and turmoil of 
the metropolis, had ever been cheating itself with a 
dream of rural quiet and seclusion : — 

~^*' Oh bless'd retirement ! friend to life's decline, 
Retreats from care, that never must be mine, 
How blest is he who crowns, in shades like these, 
A youth of labor with an age of ease ; 
Who quits a world where strong temptations try, 
And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly ! 
For him no wretches, born to work and weep, 
Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep; 
Nor surly porter stands, in guilty state, 
To spurn imploring famine from the gate; 
But on he moves to meet his latter end, 
Angels around befriending virtue's friend ; 
Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay, 
While resignation gently slopes the way ; 
And all his prospects brightening to the last, 
His heaven commences ere the world be past." / 



NOTE. 



The following article, which appeared in a London 
periodical, shows the effect of Goldsmith's poem in ren- 
ovating the fortunes of Lissoy, 



292 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

" About three miles from Ballymalion, a very central 
town in the sister-kingdom, is the mansion and village of 
Auburn, so called by their present possessor, Captaiii 
Hogan. Through the taste and improvement of this 
gentleman, it is now a beautiful spot, although fifteen 
years since it presented a very bare and unpoetical as- 
pect This, however, was owing to a cause which serves 
strongly to corroborate the assertion, that Goldsmith 
had this scene in view when he wrote his poem of ' The 
Deserted Tillage. ' The then possessor, General Napier, 
turned all his tenants out of their farms that he might 
enclose them in his own private domain. Littleton, the 
mansion of the General, stands not far off, a complete 
emblem of the desolating spirit lamented by the poet, 
dilapidated and converted into a barrack. 

"The chief object of attraction is Lissoy, once the par- 
sonage-house of Henry Goldsmith, that brother to whom 
the poet dedicated his ' Traveller,' and who is repre- 
sented as a village pastor, 

" ' Passing rich with forty pounds a year.' 

" When I was in the country, the lower chambers were 
inhabited by pigs and sheep, and the drawing-rooms by 
oats. Captain Hogan, however, lias, I believe, got it 
since into his possession, and has, of course, improved 
its condition. 

" Though at first strongly inclined to dispute the iden- 
tity of Auburn, Lissoy House overcame my scruples. As 



NOTICE OF POEM. 293 

I clambered over the rotten gate, and crossed the grass- 
grown lawn or court, the tide of association became too 
strong for casuistry : here the poet dwelt and wrote, and 
here his thoughts fondly recurred when composing his 
'Traveller' in a foreign land. Yonder was the decent 
church, that literally 'topped the neighboring hill.' Be- 
fore me lay the little hill of Knockrue, on which he de- 
clares, in one of his letters, he had rather sit with a 
book in hand than mingle in the proudest assemblies. 
And, above all, startlingly true, beneath my feet was 

" ' Yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, 
And still where many a garden-flower grows wild. ' 

"A painting from the life could not be more exact. 
'The stubborn currant-bush' lifts its head above the 
rank grass, and the proud hollyhock flaunts where its 
sisters of the flower-knot are no more. 

"In the middle of the village stands the old 'hawthorn- 
tree,' built up with masonry to distinguish and preserve 
it ; it is old and stunted, and suffers much from the dep- 
redations of post-chaise travellers, who generally stop to 
procure a twig. Opposite to it is the village ale-house, 
over the door of which swings ' The Three Jolly Pig- 
eons.' Within, everything is arranged according to the 
letter : — 

" ' The whitewash'd wall, the nicely-sanded floor, 
The varnish'd clock that click'd behind the door : 



294 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

The chest, contrived a double debt to pay, 
A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day ; 
The pictures placed for ornament and use, 
The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose.' 

"Captain Hogan, I have heard, found great difficulty 
in obtaining ' the twelve good rules,' but at length pur- 
chased them at some London book-stall to adorn the 
white-washed parlor of ' The Three Jolly Pigeons.' How- 
ever laudable this may be, nothing shook my faith in the 
reality of Auburn so much as this exactness, which had 
the disagreeable air of being got up for the occasion. 
The last object of pilgrimage is the quondam habitation 
of the schoolmaster, 

" ' There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule.' 

It is surrounded with fragrant proofs of identity in 

" 'The blossom'd furze, unprofitably gay.' 

There is to be seen the chair of the poet, which fell into 
the hands of its present possessors at the wreck of the 
parsonage-house ; they have frequently refused large of- 
fers of purchase ; but more, I dare say, for the sake of 
drawing contributions from the curious than from any 
reverence for the bard. The chair is of oak, with back 
and seat of cane, which precluded all hopes of a secret 
drawer, like that lately discovered in Gay's. There is no 
fear of its being worn out by the devout earnestness of 
sitters — as the cocks and hens have usurped undisputed 



IDENTITY OF AUBURN 295 

possession of it, and protest most clamorously against all 
attempts to get it cleansed or to seat one's self. 

" The controversy concerning the identity of this Au- 
burn was formerly a standing theme of discussion among 
the learned of the neighborhood ; but, since the pros and 
cons have been all ascertained, the argument has died 
away. Its abettors plead the singular agreement be- 
tween the local history of the place and the Auburn of 
the poem, and the exactness with which the scenery of 
the one answers to the description of the other. To this 
is opposed the mention of the nightingale, 

' ' ' And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made ; ' 

there being no such bird in the island. The objection is 
slighted, on the other hand, by considering the passage 
as a mere poetical license. 'Besides,' say they, 'the 
robin is the Irish nightingale.' And if it be hinted how 
unlikely it was that Goldsmith should have laid the scene 
in a place from which he was and had been so long ab- 
sent, the rejoinder is always, 'Pray, sir, was Milton in 
hell when he built Pandemonium ? ' 

" The line is naturally drawn between ; there can be no 
doubt that the poet intended England by 

" ' The land to hast'ning ills a prey, 
Where wealth accumulates and men decay.' 

But it is very natural to suppose that, at the same time, 



296 OLIVER GOLDSMITtt. 

his imagination had in view the scenes of his youth, 
which give such strong features of resemblance to the 
picture." 



Best, an Irish clergyman, told Davis, the traveller in 
America, that the hawthorn-bush mentioned in the poem 
was still remarkably large. " I was riding once," said he, 
" with Brady, titular Bishop of Ardagh, when he observed 
to me, * Ma foy, Best, this huge overgrown bush is might- 
ily in the way. I will order it to be cut down.' — ' What, 
sir ! ' replied I, ' cut down the bush that supplies so> 
beautiful an image in " The Deserted Village " ? ' — ' Ma 
foy ! ' exclaimed the bishop, ' is that the hawthorn bush ? 
Then let it be sacred from the edge of the axe, and evil be 
to him that should cut off a branch.' " — The hawthorn- 
bush, however, has long since been cut up, root and 
branch, in furnishing relics to literary pilgrims. 



CHAPTEE XXIX. 

THE POET AMONG THE LADIES ; DESCRIPTION OF HIS PERSON AND MANNERS. 
— EXPEDITION TO PARIS WITH THE HORNECK FAMILY. — THE TRAVELLER 
OF TWENTY AND THE TRAVELLER OF FORTY.— HICKEY, THE SPECIAL AT 
TORNEY.— AX UNLUCKY EXPLOIT. 

p|pp|p|HE "Deserted Village" had shed an additional 
'SfijlTO poetic grace round the homely person of the 
||§5j||l| author; he was becoming more and more ac- 
ceptable in ladies' eyes, and finding himself more and 
more at ease in their society ; at least in the society of 
those whom he met in the Reynolds circle, among whom 
he particularly affected the beautiful family of the Hor- 
necks. 

But let us see what were really the looks and manners 
of Goldsmith about this time, and what right he had to 
aspire to ladies' smiles ; and in so doing let us not take 
the sketches of Boswell and his compeers, who had a 
propensity to represent him in caricature; but let us 
take the apparently truthful and discriminating picture 
of him as he appeared to Judge Day, when the latter was 
a student in the Temple. 

" In person," says the Judge, " he was short ; about 
five feet five or six inches ; strong, but not heavy in 

297 



298 OLIVER GOLDSMITB. 

make ; rather fair in complexion, with brown hair ; such, 
at least, as could be distinguished from his wig. His 
features were plain, but not repulsive, — certainly not so 
when lighted up by conversation. His manners were 
simple, natural, and perhaps on the whole, we may say, 
not polished ; at least without the refinement and good- 
breeding which the exquisite polish of his compositions 
would lead us to expect. He was always cheerful and 
animated, often, indeed, boisterous in his mirth ; entered 
with spirit into convivial society ; contributed largely to 
its enjoyments by solidity of information, and the naivete 
and originality of his character ; talked often without 
premeditation, and laughed loudly without restraint." 

This, it will be recollected, represents him as he ap- 
peared to a young Templar, who probably saw him only 
in Temple coffee-houses, at students' quarters, or at the 
jovial supper-parties given at the poet's own chambers. 
Here, of course, his mind was in its rough dress; his 
laugh may have been loud and his mirth boisterous ; but 
we trust all these matters became softened and modified 
when he found himself in polite drawing-rooms and in 
female society. 

But what say the ladies themselves of him ; and her6 
fortunately, we have another sketch of him, as he ap 
peared at the time to one of the Horneck circle ; in fact 
we believe, to the Jessamy Bride herself. After admit- 
ting, apparently, with some reluctance, that "he was a 
very plain man," she goes on to say, " but had he been 



EXPEDITION TO PARIS. 299 

much more so, it was impossible not to love and respect 
his goodness of heart, which broke out on every occasion. 
His benevolence was unquestionable, and his countenance 
bore every trace of it ; no one that knew him intimately 
could avoid admiring and loving his good qualities." 
When to all this we add the idea of intellectual delicacy 
and refinement associated with him by his poetry and 
the newly-plucked bays that were flourishing round his 
brow, we cannot be surprised that fine and fashionable 
ladies should be proud of his attentions, and that even 
a young beauty should not be altogether displeased 
with the thoughts of having a man of his genius in her 
chains. 

We are led to indulge some notions of the kind from 
finding him in the month of July, but a few weeks after 
the publication of the " Deserted Village," setting off on 
a six weeks' excursion to Paris, in company with Mrs. 
Horneck and her two beautiful daughters. A day or two 
before his departure, we find another new gala suit 
charged to him on the books of Mr. William Fiiby. 
Were the bright eyes of the Jessamy Bride responsible 
for this additional extravagance of wardrobe ? Gold- 
smith had recently been editing the works of Parnell ; 
had he taken courage from the example of Edwin in the 
Fairytale?— 

" Yet spite of all that nature did 
To make his uncouth form forbid, 
This creature dared to love. 



300 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

He felt the force of Edith's eyes, 
Nor wanted hope to gain the prize 
Could ladies look within" 

All this we throw out as mere hints and surmises, 
leaving it to our readers to draw their own conclusions. 
It will be found, however, that the poet was subjected to 
shrewd bantering among his contemporaries about the 
beautiful Mary Horneck, and that he was extremely sen- 
sitive on the subject. 

It was in the month of June that he set out for Paris 
with his fair companions, and the following letter was 
written by him to Sir Joshua Reynolds, soon after the 
party landed at Calais. 

" My dear Friend, — 

" We had a very quick passage from Dover to Calais, 
which we performed in three hours and twenty minutes, 
all of us extremely sea-sick, which must necessarily have 
happened, as my machine to prevent sea-sickness was 
not completed. We were glad to leave Dover, because 
we hated to be imposed upon ; so were in high spirits at 
coming to Calais, where we were told that a little money 
would go a great way. 

"Upon landing, with two little trunks, which was all 
we carried with us, we were surprised to see fourteen or 
fifteen fellows all running down to the ship to lay their 
hands upon them; four got under each trunk, the rest 
surrounded and held the hasps ; and in this manner our 






CUSTOM-HOUSE OFFICERS. 301 

little baggage was conducted, with a kind of funeral 
solemnity, till it was safely lodged at the custom-house. 
We were well enough pleased with the people's civility 
till they came to be paid ; every creature that had the 
happiness of touching our trunks with their finger ex- 
pected sixpence, and they had so pretty and civil a man- 
ner of demanding it, that there was no refusing them. 

" When we had done with the porters, we had next to 
speak with the custom-house officers, who had their 
pretty civil way too. We were directed to the Hotel 
d'Angleterre, where a valet-de-place came to offer his 
service, and spoke to me ten minutes before I once found 
out that he was speaking English. We had no occasion 
for his services, so we gave him a little money because he 
spoke English, and because he wanted it. I cannot help 
mentioning another circumstance : I bought a new riband 
for my wig at Canterbury, and the barber at Calais broke 
it in order to gain sixpence by buying me a new one." 

An incident which occurred in the course of this tour 
has been tortured by that literary magpie, Boswelr, into 
a proof of Goldsmith's absurd jealousy of any admiration 
shown to others in his presence. While stopping at a 
hotel in Lisle, they were drawn to the windows by a mili- 
tary parade in front. The extreme beauty of the Miss 
Hornecks immediately attracted the attention of the offi- 
cers, who broke forth with enthusiastic speeches and 
compliments intended for their ears. Goldsmith was 



302 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

amused for a while, but at length affected impatience at 
this exclusive admiration of his- beautiful companions, 
and exclaimed, with mock severity of aspect, " Elsewhere 
I also would have my admirers." 

It is difficult to conceive the obtuseness of intellect 
necessary to misconstrue so obvious a piece of mock 
petulance and dry humor into an instance of mortified 
vanity and jealous self-conceit. 

Goldsmith jealous of the admiration of a group of gay 
officers for the charms of two beautiful young women ! 
This even out-Boswells Boswell : yet this is but one of 
several similar absurdities, evidently misconceptions of 
Goldsmith's peculiar vein of humor, by which the charge 
of envious jealousy has been attempted to be fixed upon 
him. In the present instance it was contradicted by one 
of the ladies herself, who was annoyed that it had been 
advanced against him. " I am sure," said she, " from the 
peculiar manner of his humor, and assumed frown of 
countenance, what was often uttered in jest was mistaken, 
by those who did not know him, for earnest." No one 
was more prone to err on this point than Boswell. He 
had a tolerable perception of wit, but none of humor. 

The following letter to Sir Joshua Keynolds was sub- 
sequently written. 

" To Sir Joshua Reynolds. 

"Paris, July 29, [1770.] 
" My dear Friend, — I began a long letter to you from 



LETTER TO REYNOLDS. 303 

Lisle, giving a description of all that we had done and 
seen, but, finding it very dull, and knowing that you 
would show it again, I threw it aside and it was lost. 
You see by the top of this letter that we are at Paris, and 
(as I have often heard you say) we have brought our own 
amusement with us, for the ladies do not seem to be very 
fond of what we have yet seen. 

" With regard to myself, I find that travelling at twenty 
and forty are very different things. I set out with all my 
confirmed habits about me, and can find nothing on the 
Continent so good as when I formerly left it. One of 
our chief amusements here is scolding at everything we 
meet with, and praising everything and every person we 
left at home. You may judge, therefore, whether your 
name is not frequently bandied at table among us. To 
tell you the truth, I never thought I could regret your 
absence so much as our various mortifications on the 
road have often taught me to do. I could tell you of 
disasters and adventures without number ; of our lying 
in barns, and of my being half poisoned with a dish of 
green peas; of our quarrelling with postilions, and being 
cheated by our landladies; but I reserve all this for a 
happy hour which I expect to share with you upon my 
return. 

"I have little to tell you more, but that we are at 
present all well, and expect returning when we have 
stayed out one month, which I did not care if it were 
over this very day, I long to hear from you all, how you 



304 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

yourself do, how Johnson, Burke, Dyer, Chamier, Col- 
man, and every one of the club do. I wish I could send 
you some amusement in this letter, but I protest I am so 
stupefied by the air of this country (for I am sure it can- 
not be natural) that I have not a word to say. I have 
been thinking of the plot of a comedy, which shall be 
entitled 'A Journey to Paris,' in which a family shall be 
introduced with a full intention of going to France to 
save money. You know there is not a place in the world 
more promising for that purpose. As for the meat of 
this country, I can scarce eat it ; and though we pay two 
good shillings a head for our dinner, I find it all sc 
tough that I have spent less time with my knife than 
my picktooth. I said this as a good thing at the table, 
but it was not understood. I believe it to be a good 
thing. 

"As for our intended journey to Devonshire, I find it 
out of my power to perform it ; for, as soon as I arrive 
at Dover, I intend to let the ladies go on, and I will take 
a country-lodging somewhere near that place in order to 
do some business. I have so outrun the constable that 
I must mortify a little to bring it up again. For God's 
sake, the night you receive this take your pen in your 
hand and tell me something about yourself and myself, 
if you know anything that has happened. About Miss 
Reynolds, about Mr. Bickerstaff, my nephew, or anyb< >dy 
that you regard. I beg you will send to Griffin the 
bookseller to know if there be any letters left for me, 



THE CHANGES OF TWENTY YEARS. 305 

and be so good as to send them to me at Paris. They 
may perhaps be left for me at the Porter's Lodge, oppo- 
site the pump in Temple Lane. The same messenger 
will do. I expect one from Lord Clare, from Ireland. 
As for the others, I am not much uneasy about. 

" Is there anything I can do for you at Paris ? I wish 
you would tell me. The whole of my own purchases 
here is one silk coat, which I have put on, and which 
makes me look like a fool. But no mora of that. I find 
that Colman has gained his lawsuit. I am glad of it. 
I suppose you often meet. I will soon be among you, 
better pleased with my situation at home than I ever 
was before. And yet I must say, that, if anything could 
make France pleasant, the very good woman with whom 
I am at present would certainly do it. I could say more 
about that, but I intend showing them the letter before 
I send it away. What signifies teasing you longer with 
moral observations, when the business of my writing is 
over ? I have one thing only more to say, and of that I 
think every hour in the day, namely, that I am your 
most sincere and most affectionate friend, 

"Oliver Goldsmith. 

"Direct to me at the Hotel de Danemarc, ) 
Rue Jacob, Fauxbourg St. Germains." ) 

A word of comment on this letter : — 

Travelling is, indeed, a very different thing with Gold- 
smith the poor student at twenty, and Goldsmith the 
poet and Professor at forty. At twenty, though obliged 
20 



306 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

to trudge on foot from town to town, and country to 
country, paying for a supper and a bed by a tune on the 
flute, everything pleased, everything was good ; a truckle- 
bed in a garret was a couch of down, and the homely fair 
of the peasant a feast fit for an epicure. Now, at forty, 
when he posts through the country in a carriage, with 
fair ladies by his side, everything goes wrong : he has to 
quarrel with postilions, he is cheated by landladies, the 
hotels are barns, the meat is too tough to be eaten, and 
he is half poisoned by green peas ! A line in his letter 
explains the secret : " the ladies do not seem to be very 
fond of what we have seen." " One of our chief amuse- 
ments is scolding at everything we meet with, and prais- 
ing everything and every person we have left at home ! " 
— the true English travelling amusement. Poor Gold- 
smith ! he has " all his confirmed habits about him " ; that 
is to say, he has recently risen into high life, and ac- 
quired high-bred notions ; he must be fastidious like his 
fellow-travellers ; he dare not be pleased with what 
pleased the vulgar tastes of his youth. He is uncon- 
sciously illustrating the trait so humorously satirized by 
him in Ned Tibbs, the shabby beau, who can find " no 
such dressing as he had at Lord Crump's or Lady 
Crimp's " ; whose very senses have grown genteel, and 
who no longer " smacks at wretched wine or praises de- 
testable custard." A lurking thorn, too, is worrying him 
throughout this tour ; he has " outrun the constable " ; 
that is to say, his expenses have outrun his means, and 



THE JESSAMT BRIDE. 307 

he will have to make up for this butterfly flight by toil- 
ing like a grub on his return. 

Another circumstance contributes to mar the pleasure 
he had promised himself in this excursion. At Paris the 
party is unexpectedly joined by a Mr. Hickey, a bustling 
attorney, who is well acquainted with that metropolis 
and its environs, and insists on playing the cicerone on 
all occasions. He and Goldsmith do not relish each 
other, and they have several petty altercations. The 
lawyer is too much a man of business and method for 
the careless poet, and is disposed to manage everything. 
He has perceived Goldsmith's whimsical peculiarities 
without properly appreciating his merits, and is prone to 
indulge in broad bantering and raillery at his expense, 
particularly irksome if indulged in presence of the ladies. 
He makes himself merry on his return to England, by 
giving the following anecdote as illustrative of Gold- 
smith's vanity : — 

"Being with a party at Versailles, viewing the water- 
works, a question arose among the gentlemen present, 
whether the distance from whence they stood to one of 
the little islands was within the compass of a leap. Gold- 
smith maintained the affirmative ; but, being bantered 
on the subject, arid remembering his former prowess as a 
youth, attempted the leap, but, falling short, descended 
into the water, to the great amusement of the company." 

Was the Jessamy Bride a witness of this unlucky ex- 
ploit ? 



308 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

This same Hickey is the one of whom Goldsmith, some 
time subsequently, gave a good-humored sketch, in his 
poem of " The Retaliation." 

" Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt, pleasant creature, 
And slander itself must allow him good-nature ; 
He cherish'd his friend, and he relish'd a bumper, 
Yet one fault he had, and that one was a thumper. 
Perhaps you may ask if the man was a miser ; 
I answer, No, no, for he always was wiser ; 
Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat ? 
His very worst foe can't accuse him of that; 
Perhaps he confided in men as they go, 
And so was too foolishly honest ? Ah, no ! 
Then what was his failing ? Come, tell it, and burn ye — 
He was, could he help it ? a special attorney." 

One of the few remarks extant made by Goldsmith 
during his tour is the following, of whimsical import, in 
his " Animated Nature." 

" In going through the towns of France, some time 
since, I could not help observing how much plainer their 
parrots spoke than ours, and how very distinctly I un- 
derstood their parrots speak French, when I could not 
understand our own, though they spoke my native lan- 
guage. I at first ascribed it to the different qualities of 
the two languages, and was for entering into an elaborate 
discussion on the vowels and consonants ; but a friend 
that was with me solved the difficulty at once, by assur- 
ing me that the French women scarce did anything else 
the whole day than sit anu instruct their feathered pu- 



TBAYELLIXG PRIVATIONS. 309 

pils ; and that the birds were thus distinct in their les- 
sons in consequence of continual schooling." 

His tour does not seem to have left in his memory the 
most fragrant recollections ; for, being asked, after his 
return, whether travelling on the Continent repaid " an 
Englishman for the privations and annoyances attendant 
on it," he replied, " I recommend it by all means to the 
sick, if they are without the sense of smelling, and to the 
poor if they are without the sense of feeling, and to both 
if they can discharge from their minds all idea of what in 
England we term comfort." 

It is needless to say that the universal improvement in 
the art of living on the Continent has at the present day 
taken away the force of Goldsmith's reply, though even 
at the time it was more humorous than correct. 



CHAPTER XXX. 

DEATH OF GOLDSMITH'S MOTHER. — BIOGRAPHY OF PARNELL. — AGREEMENT 
WITH DAVIES FOR THE HISTORY OF ROME. — LIFE OF BOLINGBROKE. — THE 
HAUNCH OF VENISON. 

N his return to England, Goldsmith received 
the melancholy tidings of the death of his 
mother. Notwithstanding the fame as an au- 




thor to which he had attained, she seems to have been 
disappointed in her early expectations from him. Like 
others of his family, she had been more vexed by his 
early follies than pleased by his proofs of genius ; and in 
subsequent years, when he had risen to fame and to in- 
tercourse with the great, had been annoyed at the ignor- 
ance of the world and want of management, which pre- 
vented him from pushing his fortune. He had always, 
however, been an affectionate son, and in the latter years 
of her life, when she had become blind, contributed from 
his precarious resources to prevent her from feeling want. 
He now resumed the labors of his pen, which his re- 
cent excursion to Paris rendered doubly necessary. We 
should have mentioned a " Life of Parnell," published by 
him shortly after the "Deserted Village." It was, as 
usual, a piece of job-work, hastily got up for pocket* 

310 



HISTORY OF ROME. 311 

money. Johnson spoke slightingly of it, and the author 
himself thought proper to apologize for its meagreness,-- 
yet, in so doing, used a simile, which for beauty of im- 
agery and felicity of language is enough of itself to stamp 
a value upon the essay. 

" Such," says he, " is the very unpoetical detail of the 
life of a poet. Some dates and some few facts, scarcely 
more interesting than those that make the ornaments of 
a country tombstone, are all that remain of one whose 
labors now begin to excite universal curiosity. A poet, 
while living is seldom an object sufficiently great to at- 
tract much attention ; his real merits are known but to 
a few, and these are generally sparing in their praises. 
When his fame is increased by time, it is then too late to 
investigate the peculiarities of his disposition ; the dews 
of morning are past, and we vainly try to continue the chase 
by the meridian splendor." 

He now entered into an agreement with Davies to pre- 
pare an abridgment, in one volume duodecimo, of his 
" History of Borne " ; but first to write a work for which 
there was a more immediate demand. Davies was about 
to republish Lord Bolingbroke's " Dissertation on Par- 
ties," which he conceived would be exceedingly applica- 
ble to the affairs of the day, and make a probable hit 
during the existing state of violent political excitement ; 
to give it still greater effect and currency, he engaged 
Goldsmith to introduce it with a prefatory life of Lord 
Bolingbroke. 



312 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

About this time Goldsmith's friend and countryman, 
Lord Clare, was in great affliction, caused by the death 
of his only son, Colonel Nugent, and stood in need of the 
sympathies of a kind-hearted friend. At his request, 
therefore, Goldsmith paid him a visit at his seat of Gos- 
field, taking his tasks with him. Davies was in a worry 
lest Gosfield Park should prove a Capua to the poet, and 
the time be lost. " Dr. Goldsmith," writes he to a friend, 
"has gone with Lord Clare into the country, and I am 
plagued to get the proofs from him of the ' Life of Lord 
Bolingbroke.' " The proofs, however, were furnished in 
time for the publication of the work in December. The 
"Biography," though written during a time of political 
turmoil, and introducing a work intended to be thrown 
into the arena of politics, maintained that freedom from 
party prejudice observable in all the writings of Gold- 
smith. It was a selection of facts, drawn from many 
unreadable sources, and arranged into a clear, flowing 
narrative, illustrative of the career and character of one 
who, as he intimates, " seemed formed by Nature to take 
delight in struggling with opposition ; whose most agree- 
able hours were passed in storms of his own creating ; 
whose life was spent in a continual conflict of politics, 
and as if that was too short for the combat, has left his 
memory as a subject of lasting contention." The sum 
received by the author for this memoir is supposed, from 
circumstances, to have been forty pounds. 

Goldsmith did not find the residence among the great 



THE HAUNCH OF VENISON. 313 

unattended with mortifications. He had now become ac- 
customed to be regarded in London as a literary lion, 
and was annoyed at what he considered a slight, on the 
part of Lord Camden. He complained of it on his re- 
turn to town at a party of his friends. "I met him," 
said he, " at Lord Clare's house in the country ; and he 
took no more notice of me than if I had been an ordinary 
man." " The conrpany," says Boswell, " laughed heartily 
at this piece of ' diverting simplicity.' " And foremost 
among the laughers was doubtless the rattle-pated Bos- 
well. Johnson, however, stepped forward, as usual, to 
defend the poet, whom he would allow no one to assail 
but himself; perhaps in the present instance he thought 
the dignity of literature itself involved in the question. 
"Nay, gentlemen," roared he, "Dr. Goldsmith is in the 
right. A nobleman ought to have made up to such a 
man as Goldsmith, and I think it is much against Lord 
Camden that he neglected him." 

After Goldsmith's return to town he received from 
Lord Clare ■ a present of game, which he has celebrated 
and perpetuated in his amusing verses entitled the 
"Haunch of Venison." Some of the lines pleasantly set 
forth the embarrassment caused by the appearance of 
such an aristocratic delicacy in the humble kitchen of a 
poet, accustomed to look up to mutton as a treat : — 

" Thanks, rny lord, for your venison ; for finer or fatter 
Never rang'd in a forest, or smok'd in a platter : 



314 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

The haunch was a picture for painters to study, 

The fat was so white, and the lean was so ruddy ; 

Though my stomach was sharp, I could scarce help regretting 

To spoil such a delicate picture by eating : 

I had thought in my chambers to place it in view, 

To be shown to my friends as a piece of virtu ; 

As in some Irish houses where things are so-so, 

One gammon of bacon hangs up for a show ; 

But, for eating a rasher, of what they take pride in, 

They'd as soon think of eating the pan it was frj'd in. 

But hang it — to poets, who seldom can eat, 
Your very good mutton's a very good treat ; 
Such dainties to them, their health it might hurt ; 
It's like sending them ruffles, when wanting a shirt." 

We have an amusing anecdote of one of Goldsmith's 
blunders which took place on a subsequent visit to Lord 
Clare's, when that nobleman was residing in Bath. 

Lord Clare and the Duke of Northumberland had 
houses next to each other, of similar architecture. Re- 
turning home one morning from an early walk, Gold- 
smith, in one of his frequent fits of absence, mistook the 
house, and walked up into the Duke's dining-room, 
where he and the Duchess were about to sit down to 
breakfast. Goldsmith, still supposing himself in the 
house of Lord Clare, and that they were visitors, made 
them an easy salutation, being acquainted with them, 
and threw himself on a sofa in the lounging manner of a 
man perfectly at home. The Duke and Duchess soon 
perceived his mistake, and, while they smiled internally, 



DUKE OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 315 

endeavored, with the considerateness of well-bred people, 
to prevent any awkward embarrassment. They accord- 
ingly chatted sociably with him about matters in Bath, 
until, breakfast being served, they invited him to par- 
take. The truth at once flashed upon poor heedless 
Goldsmith ; he started up from his free-and-easy posi- 
tion, made a confused apology for his blunder, and would 
have retired perfectly disconcerted, had not the Duke 
and Duchess treated the whole as a lucky occurrence to 
throw him in their way, and exacted a promise from him 
to dine with them. 

This may be hung up as a companion-piece to his 
blunder on his first visit to Northumberland House. 




CHAPTEE XXXI. 

DINNER AT THE ROYAL ACADEMY. — THE ROWLEY CONTROVERSY — HORACB 
WALPOLE'S CONDUCT TO CHATTERTON.— JOHNSON AT REDCLIFFE CHURCH. 
—GOLDSMITH'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.— DAVIES'S CRITICISM.— LETTER TO 
BENNET LANGTON. 

|)N St. George's day of this year (1771), the first 
annual banquet of the Koyal Academy was 
held in the exhibition - room ; the walls of 
which were covered with works of art, about to be sub- 
mitted to public inspection. Sir Joshua Reynolds, who 
first suggested this elegant festival, presided in his offi- 
cial character ; Drs. Johnson and Goldsmith, of course, 
were present, as Professors of the Academy; and, be- 
sides the Academicians, there was a large number of the 
most distinguished men of the day as guests. Goldsmith 
on this occasion drew on himself the attention of the 
company by launching out with enthusiasm on the poems 
recently given to the world by Chatterton, as the works 
of an ancient author by the name of Rowley, discovered 
in the tower of Redcliffe Church, at Bristol. Goldsmith 
spoke of them with rapture, as a treasure of old English 
poetry. This immediately raised the question of their 
authenticity ; they having been pronounced a forgery of 

316 



TEE ROWLEY CONTROVERSY. 317 

Chatterton's. Goldsmith was warm for their being genu- 
ine. When he considered, he said, the merit of the 
poetry, the acquaintance with life and the human heart 
displayed in them, the antique quaintness of the lan- 
guage and the familiar knowledge of historical events 
of their supposed day, he could not believe it possible 
they could be the work of a boy of sixteen, of narrow 
education, and confined to the duties of an attorney's 
oflice. They must be the productions of Rowley. 

Johnson, who was a stout unbeliever in Eowley, as he 
had been in Ossian, rolled in his chair and laughed at 
the enthusiasm of Goldsmith. Horace Walpole, who sat 
near by, joined in the laugh and jeer as soon as he found 
that the "trouvaille" as he called it, "of his friend Chat- 
terton," was in question. This matter, which had ex- 
cited the simple admiration of Goldsmith, was no novelty 
to him, he said. ''He might, had he pleased, have had 
the honor of ushering the great discovery to the learned 
world." And so he might, had he followed his first im- 
pulse in the matter, for he himself had been an original 
believer ; had pronounced some specimen verses sent to 
him by Chatterton wonderful for their harmony and 
spirit; and had been ready to print them and publish 
them to the world with his sanction. When he found, 
however, that his unknown correspondent was a mere 
boy, humble in sphere and indigent in circumstances, 
and when Gray and Mason pronounced the poems for- 
geries, he had changed his whole conduct towards the 



318 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

unfortunate author, and by his neglect and coldness had 
dashed all his sanguine hopes to the ground. 

Exulting in his superior discernment, this cold-hearted 
man of society now went on to divert himself, as he says, 
with the credulity of Goldsmith, whom he was accus- 
tomed to pronounce " an inspired idiot " ; but his mirth 
was soon dashed, for on asking the poet what had be- 
come of this Chatterton, he was answered, doubtless in 
the feeling tone of one who had experienced the pangs of 
despondent genius, that "he had been to London, and 
had destroyed himself." 

The reply struck a pang of self-reproach even to the 
cold heart of Walpole ; a faint blush may have visited 
his cheek at his recent levity. " The persons of honor 
and veracity who were present," said he in after-years, 
when he found it necessary to exculpate himself from the 
charge of heartless neglect of genius, "will attest with 
what surprise and concern I thus first heard of his death." 
Well might he feel concern. His cold neglect had doubt- 
less contributed to madden the spirit of that youthful 
genius, and hurry him towards his untimely end ; nor 
have all the excuses and palliations of Walpole's friends 
and admirers been ever able entirely to clear this stigma 
from his fame. 

But what was there in the enthusiasm and credulity of 
honest Goldsmith in this matter, to subject him to the 
laugh of Johnson or the raillery of Walpole ? Granting 
the poems were not ancient, were they not good ? Grant- 



HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 319 

ing they were not the productions of Rowley, were they 
the less admirable for being the productions of Chatter- 
ton ? Johnson himself testified to their merits and the 
genius of their composer, when, some years afterwards, 
he visited the tower of Redcliffe Church, and was shown 
the coffer in which poor Chatterton had pretended to 
find them. " This," said he, " is the most extraordinary 
young man that has encountered my knowledge. It is 
wonderful hoic the whelp has written such things." 

As to Goldsmith, he persisted in his credulity, and had 
subsequently a dispute with Dr. Percy on the subject, 
which interrupted and almost destroyed their friendship. 
After all, his enthusiasm was of a generous, poetic kind ; 
the poems remain beautiful monuments of genius, and it 
is even now difficult to persuade one's self that they 
could be entirely the productions of a youth of sixteen. 

In the month of August was published anonymously 
the " History of England," on which Goldsmith had been 
for some time employed. It was in four volumes, com- 
piled chiefly, as he acknowledged in the preface, from 
Eapin, Carte, Smollett, and Hume, " each of whom," says 
he, "have their admirers, in proportion as the reader is 
studious of political antiquities, fond of minute anecdote, 
a warm partisan, or a deliberate reasoner." It possessed 
the same kind of merit as his other historical compila- 
tions ; a clear, succinct narrative, a simple, easy, and grace- 
ful style, and an agreeable arrangement of facts ; but was 
not remarkable for either depth of observation or minute 



320 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

accuracy of research. Many passages were transferred, 
with little if any alteration, from his " Letters from a 
Nobleman to his Son " on the same subject. The work, 
though written without party feeling, met with sharp 
animadversions from political scribblers. The writer 
was charged with being unfriendly to liberty, disposed 
to elevate monarchy above its proper sphere ; a tool of 
ministers ; one who would betray his country for a pen- 
sion. Tom Davies, the publisher, the pompous little 
bibliopole of Russell Street, alarmed lest the book 
should prove unsalable, undertook to protect it by his 
pen, and wrote a long article in its defence in " The Pub- 
lic Advertiser." He was vain of his critical effusion, and 
sought by nods and winks and innuendoes to intimate 
his authorship. " Have you seen," said he, in a letter to 
a friend, " ' An Impartial Account of Goldsmith's History 
of England ' ? If you want to know who was the writer 
of it, you will find him in Russell Street ; — but mum!" 

The History, on the whole, however, was well received j 
some of the critics declared that English history had 
never before been so usefully, so elegantly, and agreeably 
epitomized, " and, like his other historical writings, it 
has kept its ground " in English literature. 

Goldsmith had intended this summer, in company with 
Sir Joshua Reynolds, to pay a visit to Bennet Langton, 
at his seat in Lincolnshire, where he was settled in 
domestic life, having the year previously married the 
Countess Dowager of Rothes. The following letter, how- 



LETTER TO BENNET LANG TON. 321 

ever, dated from his chambers in the Temple, on the 7th 
of September, apologizes for putting off the visit, while it 
gives an amusing account of his summer occupations and 
of the attacks of the critics on his "History of Eng- 
land " : — 

" My dear Sir, — 

" Since I had the pleasure of seeing jou last, I have 
been almost wholly in the country, at a farmer's house, 
quite alone, trying to write a comedy. It is now finished ; 
but when or how it will be acted, or whether it will be 
acted at all, are questions I cannot resolve. I am there- 
fore so much employed upon that, that I am under the 
necessity of putting off my intended visit to Lincolnshire 
for this season. Reynolds is just returned from Paris, 
and finds himself now in the case of a truant that 21111st 
make up for his idle time by diligence. We have there- 
fore agreed to postpone our journey till next summer, 
when we hope to have the honor of waiting upon Lady 
Rothes and you, and staying double the time of our late 
intended visit. We often meet, and never without remem- 
bering you. I see Mr. Beauclerc very often both in town 
and country. He is now going directly forward to be- 
come a second Boyle : deep in chemistry and physics. 
Johnson has been down on a visit to a country parson, 
Doctor Taylor, and is returned to his old haunts at Mrs. 
Thrale's. Burke is a farmer, en attendant a better place ; 
but visiting about too. Every soul is visiting about and 
21 



322 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

merry but myself. And that is hard too, as I have been 
trying these three months to do something to make 
people laugh. There have I been strolling about the 
hedges, studying jests with a most tragical countenance. 
The ' Natural History ' is about half finished, and I will 
shortly finish the rest. God knows I am tired of this 
kind of finishing, which is but bungling work ; and that 
not so much my fault as the fault of my scurvy circum- 
stances. They begin to talk in town of the Opposition's 
gaining ground ; the cry of liberty is still as loud as ever. 
I have published, or Davies has published for me, an 
' Abridgment of the History of England,' for which I 
have been a good deal abused in the newspapers, for 
betraying the liberties of the people. God knows I had 
no thought for or against liberty in my head ; my whole 
aim being to make up a book of a decent size, that, as 
'Squire Richard says, icould do no harm to nobody. How- 
ever, they set me down as an arrant Tory, and conse- 
quently an honest man. When you come to look at any 
part of it, you'll say that I am a sore Whig. God bless 
you, and with my most respectful compliments to her 
Ladyship, I remain, dear Sir, your most affectionate 
humble servant, 

"Olivek Goldsmith." 



CHAPTER XXXH 

MARRIAGE OF LITTLE COMEDY.— GOLDSMITH AT BARTON.— PRACTICAL JOKES 
AT THE EXPENSE OF HIS TOILET. — AMUSEMENTS AT BARTON". — AQUATIC 
MISADVENTURE. 

jpSiSHOTJGH Goldsmith found it impossible to break 

f4il§Si*M| from his literary occupations to visit Bennet 
iJJj^jaSjl Langton, in Lincolnshire, he soon yielded to 



attractions from another quarter, in which somewhat of 
sentiment may haye mingled. Miss Catharine Horneck, 
one of his beautiful fellow-travellers, otherwise called 
Little Comedy, had been married in August to Henry 
William Bunbury, Esq., a gentleman of fortune, who has 
become celebrated for the humorous productions of his 
pencil. Goldsmith was shortly afterwards inyited to pay 
the newly married couple a yisit at their seat, at Barton, 
in Suffolk. How could he resist such an imitation — 
especially as the Jessamy Bride would, of course, be 
among the guests? It is true, he was hampered with 
work; he was still more hampered with debt; his ac- 
counts with Newbery were perplexed ; but all must giye 
way. New advances are procured from Newbery, on the 
promise of a new tale in the style of the " Yicar of Wake- 
field," of which he showed him a few roughly-sketched 



324 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

chapters ; so, his purse replenished in the old way, " by 
hook or by crook," he posted off to visit the bride at 
Barton. He found there a joyous household, and one 
where he was welcomed with affection. Garrick was 
there, and played the part of master of the revels, for he 
was an intimate friend of the master of the house. Not- 
withstanding early misunderstandings, a social inter- 
course between the actor and the poet had grown up of 
late, from meeting together continually in the same circle. 
A few particulars have reached us concerning Goldsmith 
while on this happy visit. We believe the legend has 
come down from Miss Mary Horneck herself. " While at 
Barton," she says, " his manners were always playful and 
amusing, taking the lead in promoting any scheme of 
innocent mirth, and usually prefacing the invitation with 
' Come, now, let us play the fool a little.' At cards, which 
was commonly a round game, and the stake small, he was 
always the most noisy, affected great eagerness to win, 
and teased his opponents of the gentler sex with con- 
tinual jest and banter on their want of spirit in not risk- 
ing the hazards of the game. But one of his most favor- 
ite enjoyments was to romp with the children, when he 
threw off all reserve, and seemed one of the most joyous 
of the group. 

" One of the means by which he amused us was his 
songs, chiefly of the comic kind, which were sung with 
some taste and humor ; several, I believe, were of his own 
composition, and I regret that I neither have copies ; 






PRACTICAL JOKES. 325 

which might have been readily procured from him at the 
time, nor do I remember their names." 

His perfect good-humor made him the object of tricks 
of all kinds ; often in retaliation of some prank which 
he himself had played off. Unluckily, these tricks were 
sometimes made at the expense of his toilet, which, with 
a view peradventure to please the eye of a certain fair 
lady, he had again enriched to the impoverishment of his 
purse. " Being at all times gay in his dress," says this 
ladylike legend, "he made his appearance at the break- 
fast-table in a smart black silk coat with an expensive 
pair of ruffles ; the coat some one contrived to soil, and it 
was sent to be cleansed ; but, either by accident, or prob- 
ably by design, the day after it came home, the sleeves 
became daubed with paint, which was not discovered 
until the ruffles also, to his great mortification, were 
irretrievably disfigured. 

" He always wore a wig, a peculiarity which those who 
judge of his appearance only from the fine poetical head 
of Reynolds would not suspect ; and on one occasion 
some person contrived seriously to injure this important 
adjunct to dress. It was the only one he had in the 
country, and the misfortune seemed irreparable until the 
services of Mr. Bunbury's valet were called in, who, how- 
ever, performed his functions so indifferently, that poor 
Goldsmith's appearance became the signal for a general 
smile." 

This was wicked waggery, especially when it was 



326 OLIVER G0LDSM1TB. 

directed to mar all the attempts of the unfortunate poet 
to improve his personal appearance, about which he was 
at all times dubiously sensitive, and particularly when 
among the ladies. 

We have in a former chapter recorded his unlucky 
tumble into a fountain at Versailles, when attempt- 
ing a feat of agility in presence of the fair Hornecks. 
Water was destined to be equally baneful to him on the 
present occasion. "Some difference of opinion," says the 
fair narrator, "having arisen with Lord Harrington re- 
specting the depth of a pond, the poet remarked that it 
was not so deep but that, if anything valuable was to be 
found at the bottom, he would not hesitate to pick it up. 
His lordship, after some banter, threw in a guinea ; Gold- 
smith, not to be outdone in this kind of bravado, in at- 
tempting to fulfil his promise without getting wet, acci- 
dentally fell in, to the amusement of all present; but 
persevered, brought out the money, and kept it, remark- 
ing that he had abundant objects on whom to bestow any 
farther proofs of his lordship's whim or bounty." 

All this is recorded by the beautiful Mary Horneck, 
the Jessamy Bride herself; but while she gives these 
amusing pictures of poor Goldsmith's eccentricities, and 
of the mischievous pranks played off upon him, she bears 
unqualified testimony, which we have quoted elsewhere, 
to the qualities of his head and heart, which shone forth 
in his countenance, and gained him the love of all who 
knew him. 



LOST MANUSCRIPT. 327 

Among the circumstances of this visit, vaguely called 
to mind by this fair lady in after years, was that Gold- 
smith read to her and her sister the first part of a novel 
which he had in hand. It was doubtless the manuscript 
mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, on which he 
had obtained an advance of money from Newbery to 
stave off some pressing debts, and to provide funds for 
this very visit. It never was finished. The bookseller, 
when he came afterwards to examine the manuscript, 
objected to it as a mere narrative version of the " Good- 
natured Man." Goldsmith, too easily put out of conceit 
of his writings, threw it aside, forgetting that this was 
the very Newbery who kept his "Vicar of Wakefield" by 
him nearly two years, through doubts of its success. The 
loss of the manuscript is deeply to be regretted; it 
doubtless would have been properly wrought up before 
given to the press, and might have given us new scenes 
of life and traits of character, while it could not fail to 
bear traces of his delightful style. What a pity he had 
not been guided by the opinions of his fair listeners at 
Barton, instead of that of the astute Mr. Newbery ! 




CHAPTEK XXXm. 

DINNER AT GENERAL OGLETHORPE'S.— ANECDOTES OF THE GENERAL. — DISPUTE 
ABOUT DUELLING. — GHOST STORIES. 

have mentioned old General Oglethorpe as 
one of Goldsmith's aristocratical acquaintances. 
This veteran, born in 1698, had commenced life 
early, by serving, when a mere stripling, under Prince 
Eugene, against the Turks. He had continued in mili- 
tary life, and been promoted to the rank of major-gen- 
eral in 1745, and received a command during the Scot- 
tish rebellion. Being of strong Jacobite tendencies, 
he was suspected and accused of favoring the rebels ; 
and though acquitted by a court of inquiry, was nev- 
er afterwards employed ; or, in technical language, was 
shelved. He had since been repeatedly a member of 
Parliament, and had always distinguished himself by 
learning, taste, active benevolence, and high Tory princi- 
ples. His name, however, has become historical, chiefly 
from his transactions in America, and the share he took 
in the settlement of the colony of Georgia. It lies 
embalmed in honorable immortality in a single line of 
Pope's : — 

328 



ANECDOTES. 329 

" One, driven by strong benevolence of soul, 
Shall fly, like Oglethorpe, from pole to pole." 

The yeteraii was now seventy-four years of age, but 
healthy and vigorous, and as much the preux chevalier 
as in his younger days, when he served with Prince Eu- 
gene. His table was often the gathering-place of men of 
talent. Johnson was frequently there, and delighted in 
drawing from the General details of his various "expe- 
riences." He was anxious that he should give the world 
his life. "I know no man," said he, "whose life would 
be more interesting." Still the vivacity of the General's 
mind and the variety of his knowledge made him skip 
from subject to subject too fast for the Lexicographer. 
"Oglethorpe," growled he, "never completes what he has 
to say." 

Boswell gives us an interesting and characteristic ac- 
count of a dinner-party at the General's, (April 10th, 
1772,) at which Goldsmith and Johnson were present. 
After dinner, when the cloth was removed, Oglethorpe, 
at Johnson's request, gave an account of the siege of 
Belgrade, in the true veteran style. Pouring a little wine 
upon the table, he drew his lines and parallels with a wet 
finger, describing the positions of the opposing forces. 
"Here were we — here were the Turks," to all which 
Johnson listened with the most earnest attention, poring 
over the plans and diagrams with his usual purblind 
closeness. 

In the course of conversation the General gave an 



330 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

anecdote of himself in early life, when serving under 
Prince Eugene. Sitting at table once in company with a 
prince of Wurtemberg, the latter gave a fillip to a glass 
of wine, so as to make some of it fly in Oglethorpe's face. 
The manner in which it was done was somewhat equiv- 
ocal. How was it to be taken by the stripling officer ? 
If seriously, he must challenge the prince ; but in so 
doing he might fix on himself the character of a drawcan- 
sir. If passed over without notice, he might be charged 
with cowardice. His mind was made up in an instant. 
"Prince," said he, smiling, "that is an excellent joke; but 
we do it much better in England." So saying he threw a 
whole glass of wine in the Prince's face. " II a bien fait, 
mon Prince," cried an old General present, " vous l'avez 
commence." (He has done right, my Prince; you com- 
menced it.) The Prince had the good sense to acquiesce 
in the decision of the veteran, and Oglethorpe's retort in 
kind was taken in good part. 

It was probably at the close of this story that the offi- 
cious Boswell, ever anxious to promote conversation for 
the benefit of his note-book, started the question whether 
duelling were consistent with moral duty. The old Gen- 
eral fired up in an instant. "Undoubtedly," said he, 
with a lofty air ; " undoubtedly a man has a right to de- 
fend his honor." Goldsmith immediately carried the war 
into Bos well's own quarters, and pinned him with the 
question, " what he would do if affronted ? " The pliant 
Boswell, who for a moment had the fear of the General 



DISPUTE ABOUT DUELLING. 331 

ra'ler than of Johnson before his eyes, replied, "he 
should think it necessary to fight." "Why, then, that 
solves the question," replied Goldsmith. "No, sir!" 
thundered out Johnson ; " it does not follow that what a 
man would do, is therefore right." He ; however, subse- 
quently went into a discussion to show that there were 
necessities in the case arising out of the artificial refine- 
ment of society, and its proscription of any one who 
should put up with an affront without fighting a duel. 
" Ho then," concluded he, " who fights a duel does not 
fight from passion against his antagonist, but out of self- 
defence, to avert the stigma of the world, and to prevent 
himself from being driven out of society. I could wish 
the; e were not that superfluity of refinement ; but while 
such notions prevail, no doubt a man may lawfully fight 
a duel." 

Another question started was, whether people who dis- 
agreed on a capital point could live together in friend- 
ship. Johnson said they might. Goldsmith said they 
could not, as they had not the idem velle atque idem 
nolle — the same likings and aversions. Johnson rejoined, 
that they must shun the subject on which they disagreed. 
"But, sir," said Goldsmith, "when people live together 
who have something as to which they disagree, and 
which they want to shun, they will be in the situation 
mentioned in the story of Blue Beard : ' you may look 
into all the chambers but one ; ' but we should have the 
greatest inclination to look into that chamber, to talk of 



332 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

that subject." " Sir," thundered Johnson, in a loud 
voice, " I am not saying that you could live in friendship 
with a man from whom you differ as to some point ; I am 
only saying that / could do it." 

Who will not say that Goldsmith had the best of this 
petty contest ? How just was his remark ! how felicitous 
the illustration of the blue chamber ! how rude and over- 
bearing was the argumentum ad hominem of Johnson, 
when he felt that he had the worst of the argument ! 

The conversation turned upon ghosts. General Ogle- 
thorpe told the story of a Colonel Prendergast, an offi- 
cer in the Duke of Marlborough's army, who predicted 
among his comrades that he should die on a certain day. 
The battle of Malplaquet took place on that day. The 
Colonel was in the midst of it, but came out unhurt. 
The firing had ceased, and his brother officers jested 
with him about the fallacy of his prediction. " The day 
is not over," replied he, gravely ; " I shall die notwith- 
standing what you see." His words proved true. The 
order for a cessation of firing had not reached one of the 
French batteries, and a random shot from it killed the 
Colonel on the spot. Among his effects was found a 
pocket-book in which he had made a solemn entry, that 
Sir John Friend, who had been executed for high trea- 
son, had appeared to him, either in a dream or vision, 
and predicted that he would meet him on a certain day 
(the very day of the battle). Colonel Cecil, who took 
possession of the effects of Colonel Prendergast, and read 



GHOST STORIES. 333 

the entry in the pocket-book, told this story to Pope, 
the poet, in the presence of General Oglethorpe. 

This story, as related by the General, appears to have 
been well received, if not credited, by both Johnson and 
Goldsmith, each of whom had something to relate in 
kind. Goldsmith's brother, the clergyman in whom he 
had such imjriicit confidence, had assured him of his 
having seen an apparition. Johnson also had a friend, 
old Mr. Cave, the printer, at St. John's Gate, " an honest 
man, and a sensible man," who told him he had seen a 
ghost ; he did not, however, like to talk of it, and seemed 
to be in great horror whenever it was mentioned. " And 
pray, sir," asked Boswell, " what did he say was the ap- 
pearance ? " " Why, sir, something of a shadowy being." 

The reader will not be surprised at this superstitious 
turn in the conversation of such intelligent men, when 
he recollects that, but a few years before this time, all 
London had been agitated by the absurd story of the 
Cock-lane ghost ; a matter which Dr. Johnson had 
deemed worthy of his serious investigation, and about 
which Goldsmith had written a pamphlet 



CHAPTER XXXIV. 



MR. JOSEPH CRADOCK.— AN AUTHOR'S CONFIDINGS. — AN AMANUENSIS. — LTFI 
AT EDGE WARE. — GOLDSMITH CONJURING. — GEORGE COLMAN. — THE FANTOC- 
CINI. 




MONG the agreeable acquaintances made by 
Goldsmith about this time was a Mr. Joseph 
Cradock, a young gentleman of Leicestershire, 
living at his ease, but disposed to "make himself un- 
easy," by meddling with literature and the theatre ; in 
fact, he had a passion for plays and players, and had 
come up to town with a modified translation of Voltaire's 
tragedy of " Zobeide," in a view to get it acted. There 
was no great difficulty in the case, as he was a man of 
fortune, had letters of introduction to persons of note, 
and was altogether in a different position from the indi- 
gent man of genius whom managers might harass with 
impunity. Goldsmith met him at the house of Yates, 
the actor, and finding that he was a friend of Lord Clare, 
soon became sociable with him. Mutual tastes quick- 
ened the intimacy, especially as they found means of 
serving each other. Goldsmith wrote an epilogue foi 
the tragedy of " Zobeide " ; and Cradock, who was an 

334 



AN AUTHOR' 8 C0NF1DINGS. 335 

amateur musician, arranged the music for the "Thre- 
iiodia Augustalis," a Lament on the death of the Prin- 
cess Dowager of Wales, the political mistress and patron 
of Lord Clare, which Goldsmith had thrown off hastily 
to please that nobleman. The tragedy was played with 
some success at Covent Garden ; the Lament was recited 
and sung at Mrs. Cornelys' rooms — a very fashionable 
resort in Soho Square, got up by a woman of enterprise 
of that name. It was in whimsical parody of those gay 
and somewhat promiscuous assemblages that Goldsmith 
used to call the motley evening parties at his lodgings 
"little Cornelys." 

The " Threnodia Augustalis " was not publicly known 
to be by Goldsmith until several years after his death. 

Cradock was one of the few polite intimates who felt 
more disposed to sympathize with the generous qualities 
of the poet than to sport with his eccentricities. He 
sought his society whenever he came to town, and occa- 
sionally had him to his seat in the country. Goldsmith 
appreciated his sympathy, and unburdened himself to 
him without reserve. Seeing the lettered ease in which 
this amateur author was enabled to live, and the time he 
could bestow on the elaboration of a manuscript, " Ah ! 
Mr. Cradock," cried he, " think of me, that must write a 
volume every month ! " He complained to him of the 
attempts made by inferior writers, and by others who 
could scarcely come under that denomination, not only 
to abuse and depreciate his writings, but to render him 



336 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

ridiculous as a man ; perverting every harmless sentiment 
and action into charges of absurdity, malice, or folly. 
"Sir," said he, in the fulness of his heart, "I am as a lion 
baited by curs ! " 

Another acquaintance, which he made about this time, 
was a young countryman of the name of M'Donnell, 
whom he met in a state of destitution, and, of course, 
befriended. The following grateful recollections of his 
kindness and his merits were furnished by that person in 
after years : — 

" It was in the year 1772," writes he, " that the death 
of my elder brother — when in London, on my way to 
Ireland — left me in a most forlorn situation ; I was their 
about eighteen ; I possessed neither friends nor money, 
nor the means of getting to Ireland, of which or of Eng- 
land I knew scarcely anything, from having so long re- 
sided in France. In this situation I had strolled about 
for two or three days, considering what to do, but unable 
to come to any determination, when Providence directed 
me to the Temple Gardens. I threw myself on a seat, 
and, willing to forget my miseries for a moment, drew out 
a book ; that book was a volume of Boileau. I had not 
been there long when a gentleman, strolling about, passed 
near me, and observing, perhaps, something Irish or for- 
eign in my garb or countenance, addressed me : ' Sir, you 
seem studious ; I hope you find this a favorable place to 
pursue it.' ' Not very studious, sir ; I fear it is the want 
of society that brings me hither ; I am solitary and 



AN AMANUENSIS. 337 

unknown in this metropolis ; ' and a passage from Cicero 
— Oratio pro Archia — occurring to me, I quoted it : ' Haec 
studia pernoctant nobiscum, peregrinantur, rusticantur.' 
' You are a scholar, too, sir, I perceive.' ' A piece of one, 
sir ; but I ought still to have been in the college where I 
had the good fortune to pick up the little I know.' A 
good deal of conversation ensued ; I told him part of 
my history, and he, in return, gave his address in the 
Temple, desiring me to call soon, from which, to my in- 
finite surprise and gratification, I found that the person 
who thus seemed to take an interest in my fate was my 
countryman, and a distinguished ornament of letters. 

"I did not fail to keep the appointment, and was 
received in the kindest manner. He told me, smilingly, 
that he was not rich ; that he could do little for me in 
direct pecuniary aid, but would endeavor to put me in 
the way of doing something for myself ; observing, that 
he could at least furnish me with advice not wholly use- 
less to a young man placed in the heart of a great 
metropolis. 'In London,' he continued, 'nothing is to 
be got for nothing ; you must work ; and no man who 
chooses to be industrious need be under obligations to 
another, for here labor of every kind commands its re- 
ward. If you think proper to assist me occasionally as 
amanuensis, I shall be obliged, and you will be placed 
under no obligation, until something more permanent 
can be secured for you.' This employment, which I 
pursued for some time, was to translate passages from 
23 



338 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

Buffon, which were abridged or altered, according to 
circumstances, for his 'Natural History.'" 

Goldsmith's literary tasks were fast getting ahead of 
him, and he began now to " toil after them in vain." 

Five volumes of the " Natural History " here spoken of 
had long since been paid for by Mr. Griffin, yet most of 
them were still to be written. His young amanuensis 
bears testimony to his embarrassments and perplexities, 
but to the degree of equanimity with which he bore 
them : — 

"It has been said," observes he, "that he was irrita- 
ble. Such may have been the case at times ; nay, I be- 
lieve it was so ; for what with the continual pursuit of 
authors, printers, and booksellers, and occasional pecu- 
niary embarrassments, few could have avoided exhibiting 
similar marks of impatience. But it was never so towards 
me. I saw him only in his bland and kind moods, with 
a flow, perhaps an overflow, of the milk of human kind- 
ness for all who were in any manner dependent upon 
him. I looked upon him with aAve and veneration, ami 
he upon me as a kind parent upon a child. 

" His manner and address exhibited much frankness 
and cordiality, particularly to those with whom he pos- 
sessed any degree of intimacy. His good-nature was 
equally apparent. You could not dislike the man, al- 
though several of his follies and foibles you might be 
tempted to condemn. He was generous and inconsider- 
ate ; mone}' with him had little value." 



SUMMER LODGINGS. 339 

To escape from many of the tormentors just alluded to, 
and to devote himself without interruption to his task, 
Goldsmith took lodgings for the summer at a farm-house 
near the six-mile stone on the Edgeware road, and car- 
ried down his books in two return post-chaises. He used 
to say he believed the farmer's family thought him an 
odd character, similar to that in which the Spectator ap- 
peared to his landlady and her children; he was The 
Gentleman. Boswell tells us that he went to visit him 
at the place in company with Mickle, translator of the 
u Lusiad." Goldsmith was not at home. Having a curi- 
osity to see his apartment, however, they went in, and 
found curious scraps of descriptions of animals scrawled 
upon the wall with a black-lead pencil. 

The farm-house in question is still in existence, though 
much altered. It stands upon a gentle eminence in Hyde 
Lane, commanding a pleasant prospect towards Hendon. 
The room is still pointed out in which " She Stoops to 
Conquer " was written ; a convenient and airy apartment, 
up one flight of stairs. 

Some matter-of-fact traditions concerning the author 
were furnished, a few years since, by a son of the farmer, 
who was sixteen years of age at the time Goldsmith re- 
sided with his father. Though he had engaged to board 
with the family, his meals were generally sent to him in 
his room, in which he passed the most of his time, neg- 
ligently dressed, with his shirt-collar open, busily en- 
gaged in writing. Sometimes, probably when in moods 



340 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

of composition, he would wander into the kitchen, with- 
out noticing any one, stand musing with his back to the 
fire, and then hurry off again to his room, no doubt to 
commit to paper some thought which had struck him. 

Sometimes he strolled about the fields, or was to be 
seen loitering and reading and musing under the hedges. 
He was subject to fits of wakefulness, and read much in 
bed ; if not disposed to read, he still kept the candle 
burning ; if he wished to extinguish it, and it was out of 
his reach, he flung his slipper at it, which would be 
found in the morning near the overturned candlestick 
and daubed with grease. He was noted here, as every- 
where else, for his charitable feelings. No beggar ap- 
plied to him in vain, and he evinced on all occasions 
great commiseration for the poor. 

He had the use of the parlor to receive and entertain 
company, and was visited by Sir Joshua Reynolds, 
Hugh Boyd, the reputed author of "Junius," Sir William 
Chambers, and other distinguished characters. He gave 
occasionally, though rarely, a dinner-party ; and on one 
occasion, when his guests were detained by a thunder- 
shower, he gut up a dance, and carried the merriment 
late into the night. 

As usual, he was the promoter of hilarity among the 
young, and at one time took the children of the house 
to see a company of strolling players at Hendon. The 
greatest amusement to the party, however, was derived 
from his own jokes on the road and his comments on the 



THE SEQUINS. 341 

performance, which produced infinite laughter among his 
youthful companions. 

Near to his rural retreat at Edge ware, a Mr. Seguin, 
an Irish merchant, of literary tastes, had country quar- 
ters for his family, where Goldsmith was always wel- 
come. 

In this family he would indulge in playful and even 
grotesque humor, and was ready for anything — conversa- 
tion, music, or a game of romps. He prided himself 
upon his dancing, and would walk a minuet with Mrs. 
Seguin, to the infinite amusement of herself and the chil- 
dren, whose shouts of laughter he bore with perfect 
good-humor. He would sing Irish songs, and the Scotch 
ballad of "Johnny Armstrong." He took the lead in the 
children's sports of blind-man's-buff, hunt the slipper, 
<fec, or in their games at cards, and was the most noisy 
of the party, affecting to cheat and to be excessively 
eager to win ; while with children of smaller size he 
would turn the hind part of his wig before, and play all 
kinds of tricks to amuse them. 

One word as to his musical skill and his performance 
on the flute, which comes up so invariably in all his fire- 
side revels. He really knew nothing of music scientifi- 
cally ; he had a good ear, and may have played sweetly ; 
but we are told he could not read a note of music. Eou- 
billac, the statuary, once played a trick upon him in this 
respect. He pretended to score down an air as the poet 
played it, but put down crotchets and semibreves at ran- 



342 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

dom. When he had finished, Goldsmith cast his eye 
over it and pronounced it correct! It is possible that 
his execution in music was like his style in writing ; in 
sweetness and melody he may have snatched a grace 
beyond the reach of art ! 

He was at all times a capital companion for children, 
and knew how to fall in with their humors. "I little 
thought," said Miss Hawkins, the woman grown, "what 
I should have to boast when Goldsmith taught me to 
play Jack and Jill by two bits of paper on his fingers." 
He entertained Mrs. Garrick, we are told, with a whole 
budget of stories and songs; delivered the "Chimney 
Sweep " with exquisite taste as a solo ; and performed a 
duet with Garrick of " Old Eose and Burn the Bellows." 

" I was only five years old," says the late George Col- 
man, "when Goldsmith one evening, when drinking cof- 
fee with my father, took me on his knee and began to 
play with me, which amiable act I returned with a very 
smart slap in the face ; it must have been a tingler, for I 
left the marks of my little spiteful paw upon his cheek. 
This infantile outrage was followed by summary justice, 
and I was locked up by my father in an adjoining room, 
to undergo solitary imprisonment in the dark. Here I 
began to howl and scream most abominably. At length 
a friend appeared to extricate me from jeopardy ; it was 
the good-natured Doctor himself, with a lighted candle 
in his hand, and a smile upon his countenance, which 
was still partially red from the effects of my petulance. 






COUXTRT VISITS. 343 

I sulked and sobbed, and he fondled and soothed until I 
began to brighten. He seized the propitious moment, 
placed three hats upon the carpet, and a shilling under 
each ; the shillings, he told me, were England, France, 
and Spain. ' Hey, presto, cockolorum ! ' cried the Doc- 
tor, and, lo ! on uncovering the shillings, they were all 
found congregated under one. I was no politician at 
the time, and therefore might not have wondered at the 
sudden revolution which brought England, France, and 
Spain all under one crown; but, as I was also no con- 
jurer, it amazed me beyond measure. From that time, 
whenever the Doctor came to visit my father, 

" ' I pluck'd his gown to share the good man's smile ; ' 

a game of romps constantly ensued, and we were always 
cordial friends and merry playfellows." 

Although Goldsmith made the Edgeware farm-house 
his headquarters for the summer, he would absent him- 
self for weeks at a time on visits to Mr. Cradock, Lord 
Clare, and Mr. Langton, at their country-seats. He 
would often visit town, also, to dine and partake of the 
public amusements. On one occasion he accompanied 
Edmund Burke to witness a performance of the Italian 
Fantoccini or Puppets, in Panton Street; an exhibition 
which had hit the caprice of the town, and was in a great 
vogue. The puppets were set. in motion by wires, so 
well concealed as to be with difficulty detected. Bos- 
well, with his usual obtuseness with respect to Gold- 



344 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

smith, accuses him of being jealous of the puppets \ 
" When Burke," said he, praised the dexterity with 
which one of them tossed a pike, ' Pshaw,' said Gold- 
smith with some warmth, 'I can do it better myself.'" 
" The same evening," adds Boswell, " when supping at 
Burke's lodgings, he broke his shin by attempting to 
exhibit to the company how much better he could jump 
over a stick than the puppets." 

Goldsmith jealous of puppets ! This even passes in 
absurdity Boswell's charge upon him of being jealous of 
the beauty of the two Miss Hornecks. 

The Panton-Street puppets were destined to be a 
source of further amusement to the town, and of annoy- 
ance to the little autocrat of the stage. Foote, the Aris- 
tophanes of the English drama, who was always on the 
alert to turn every subject of popular excitement to ac- 
count, seeing the success of the Fantoccini, gave out that 
he should produce a Primitive Puppet-Show at the Hay- 
market, to be entitled " The Handsome Chambermaid, 
or Piety in Pattens " ; intended to burlesque the senti- 
mental comedy which Garrick still maintained at Drury 
Lane. The idea of a play to be performed in a regular 
theatre by puppets excited the curiosity and talk of the 
town. " Will your puppets be as large as life, Mr 
Foote ? " demanded a lady of rank. " Oh, no, my lady,' 
replied Foote, " not much larger than Garrick" 




CHAPTEE XXXV. 

BROKEN HEALTH. — DISSIPATION AND DEBTS. — THE IRISH WIDOW. — PRACTICAL 
JOKES. — SCRUB.— A MISQUOTED PUN. — MALAGRIDA. — GOLDSMITH PROVED 
TO BE A FOOL. — DISTRESSED BALLAD-SINGERS. — THE POET AT RANELAGH. 

JOLDSMITH returned to town in the autumn 
(1772), with his health much disordered. His 
close fits of sedentary application, during which 
he in a manner tied himself to the mast, had laid the 
seeds of a lurking malady in his sj stem, and produced 
a severe illness in the course of the summer. Town-life 
was not favorable to the health either of body or mind. 
He could not resist the siren voice of temptation, which, 
now that he had become a notoriety, assailed him on 
every side. Accordingly we find him launching away in 
a career of social dissipation; dining and supping out; 
at clubs, at routs, at theatres ; he is a guest with John- 
son at the Thrales, and an object of Mrs. Thrale's lively 
sallies ; he is a lion at Mrs. Yesey's and Mrs. Montagu's, 
where some of the high-bred blue-stockings pronounce 
him a "wild genius," and others, peradventure, a "wild 
Irishman." In the meantime his pecuniary difficulties 
are increasing upon him, conflicting with his proneness 
to pleasure and expense, and contributing by the harass- 

345 



346 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

merit of his mind to the wear and tear of his constitution. 
His "Animated Nature," though not finished, has been 
entirely paid for, and the money spent. The money ad- 
vanced by Garrick on Newbery's note, still hangs over 
him as a debt. The tale on which Newbery had loaned 
from two to three hundred pounds previous to the excur- 
sion to Barton, has proved a failure. The bookseller is 
urgent for the settlement of his complicated account ; the 
perplexed author has nothing to offer him in liquidation 
but the copyright of the comedy which he has in his 
portfolio ; " Though, to tell you the truth, Frank," said 
he, "there are great doubts of its success." The offer 
was accepted, and, like bargains wrung from Goldsmith 
in times of emergency, turned out a golden speculation 
to the bookseller. 

In this way Goldsmith went on "overrunning the 
constable," as he termed it ; spending everything in ad- 
vance ; working with an overtasked head and weary heart 
to pay for past pleasures and past extravagance, and at 
the same time incurring new debts, to perpetuate his 
struggles and darken his future prospects. While the 
excitement of society and the excitement of composi- 
tion conspire to keep up a feverishness of the system, 
he has incurred an unfortunate habit of quacking him- 
self with James's powders, a fashionable panacea of the 
day. 

A farce, produced this year by Garrick, and entitled 
"The Irish Widow," perpetuates the memory of prac- 



THE IRISH WIDOW. 347 

tical jokes played off a year or two previously upon the 
alleged vanity of poor, simple-hearted Goldsmith. He 
was one evening at the house of his friend Burke, when 
he was beset by a tenth muse, an Irish widow and au- 
thoress, just arrived from Ireland, full of brogue and 
blunders, and poetic fire and rantipole gentility. She 
was soliciting subscriptions for her poems, and assailed 
Goldsmith for his patronage ; the great Goldsmith — her 
countryman, and of course her friend. She overpowered 
him with eulogiums on his own poems, and then read 
some of her own, with vehemence of tone and gesture, 
appealing continually to the great Goldsmith to know 
how he relished them. 

Poor Goldsmith did all that a kind-hearted and gal- 
lant gentleman could do in such a case ; he praised her 
poems as far as the stomach of his sense would permit- 
perhaps a little further ; he offered her his subscription ; 
and it was not until she had retired with many parting 
compliments to the great Goldsmith, that he pronounced 
the poetry which had been inflicted on him execrable. 
The whole scene had been a hoax got up by Burke for 
the amusement of his company ; and the Irish widow, so 
admirably performed, had been personated by a Mrs. 
Balfour, a lady of his connection, of great sprightliness 
and talent. 

We see nothing in the story to establish the alleged 
vanity of Goldsmith, but we think it tells rather to the 
disadvantage of Burke, — being unwarrantable under their 



348 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

relations of friendship, and a species of waggery quite 
beneath his genius. 

Croker, in his notes to Boswell, gives another of these 
practical jokes perpetrated by Burke at the expense of 
Goldsmith's credulity. It was related to Croker by Col- 
onel O'Moore, of Cloghan Castle, in Ireland, who was a 
party concerned. The Colonel and Burke, walking one 
day through Leicester Square on their way to Sir Joshua 
Reynolds's, with whom they were to dine, observed Gold- 
smith, who was likewise to be a guest, standing and re- 
garding a crowd which was staring and shouting at some 
foreign ladies in the window of a hotel. " Observe Gold- 
smith," said Burke to O'Moore, "and mark what passes 
between us at Sir Joshua's." They passed on and 
reached there before him. Burke received Goldsmith 
with affected reserve and coldness ; being pressed to ex- 
plain the reason, "Really," said he, "I am ashamed to 
keep company with a person who could act as you have 
just done in the Square." Goldsmith protested he was 
ignorant of what was meant. " Why," said Burke, " did 
you not exclaim, as you were looking up at those women, 
what stupid beasts the crowd must be for staring with 
such admiration at those painted Je:ebels, while a man of 
your talents passed by unnoticed?" "Surely, surely, 
my dear friend," cried Goldsmith, with alarm, " surely I 
did not say so?" "Nay," replied Burke, "if you had not 
said so, how should I have known it?" "That's true," 
answered Goldsmith, "I am very sorry — it was verv 



SCRUB. 349 

foolish : I do recollect that something of the hind passed 
through my mind, but I did not think I had uttered it." 

It is proper to observe that these jokes were played off 
by Burke before he had attained the full eminence of his 
social position, and that he may have felt privileged to 
take liberties with Goldsmith as his countryman and 
college associate. It is evident, however, that the pecu- 
liarities of the latter, and his guileless simplicity, made 
him a butt for the broad waggery of some of his associ- 
ates; while others more polished, though equally perfi- 
dious, were on the watch to give currency to his bulls 
and blunders. 

The Stratford jubilee, in honor of Shakspeare, where 
Boswell had made a fool of himself, was still in every 
one's mind. It was sportively suggested that a fete 
should be held at Litchfield in honor of Johnson and 
Garrick, and that the " Beau's Stratagem " should be 
played by the members of the Literary Club. " Then," 
exclaimed Goldsmith, " I shall certainly play Scrub. I 
should like of all things to try my hand at that charac- 
ter." The unwary speech, which any one else might 
have made without comment, has been thought worthy 
of record as whimsically characteristic. Beauclerc was 
extremely apt to circulate anecdotes at his expense, 
founded perhaps on some trivial incident, but dressed up 
with the embellishments of his sarcastic brain. One 
relates to a venerable dish of peas, served up at Sir 
Joshua's table, which should have been green, but were 



350 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

any other color. A wag suggested to Goldsmith in a 
whisper, that they should be sent to Hammersmith, as 
that was the way to tarn-em-green (Turnham Green). 
Goldsmith, delighted with the pun, endeavored to repeat 
it at Burke's table, but missed the point. " That is the 
way to make 'em green," said he. Nobody laughed. He 
perceived he was at fault. " I mean that is the road to 
turn 'em green." A dead pause and a stare; — "where- 
upon," adds Beauclerc, " he started up disconcerted and 
abruptly left the table." This is evidently one of Beau- 
clerc' s caricatures. 

On another occasion the poet and Beauclerc were 
seated at the theatre next to Lord Shelburne, the min- 
ister, whom political writers thought proper to. nickname 
Malagrida. " Do you know," said Goldsmith to his lord- 
ship, in the course of conversation, " that I never could 
conceive why they call you Malagrida, for Malagrida was 
a very good sort of man." This was too good a trip of 
the tongue for Beauclerc to let pass : he serves it up in 
his next letter to Lord Charlemont, as a specimen of a 
mode of turning a thought the wrong way, peculiar to 
the poet ; he makes merry over it with his witty and sar- 
castic compeer, Horace Walpole, who pronounces it " a 
picture of Goldsmith's whole life." Dr. Johnson alone, 
when he hears it bandied about as Goldsmith's last blun 
der, growls forth a friendly defence : " Sir," said he, " it 
was a mere blunder in emphasis. He meant to say, I 
wonder they should use Malagrida as a term of re- 



MISQUOTED PUN. 351 

proach." Poor Goldsmith ! On such points he was ever 
doomed to be misinterpreted. Rogers, the poet, meet- 
ing in times long subsequent with a survivor from those 
days, asked him what Goldsmith really was in convey . 
sation. The old conventional character was too deeply 
stamped in the memory of the veteran to be effaced. 
" Sir," replied the old wiseacre, " he ivas a fool. The 
right word never came to him. If you gave him back a 
bad shilling, he'd say, Why, it's as good a shilling as 
ever was born. Tou know he ought to have said coined. 
Coined, sir, never entered his head. He teas a fool, sir." 

We have so many anecdotes in which Goldsmith's sim- 
plicity is played upon, that it is quite a treat to meet 
with one in which he is represented playing upon the 
simplicity of others, especially when the victim of his 
joke is the " Great Cham " himself, whom all others are 
disposed to hold so much in awe. Goldsmith and John- 
son were supping cosily together at a tavern in Dean 
Street, Soho, kept by Jack Roberts, a singer at Drury 
Lane, and a protege of Garrick's. Johnson delighted in 
these gastronomical tete-a-tetes, and was expatiating in 
high good-humor on a dish of rumps and kidneys, the 
veins of his forehead swelling with the ardor of mastica- 
tion. " These," said he, " are pretty little things ; but a 
man must eat a great many of them before he is filled." 
"Aye; but how many of them," asked Goldsmith, with 
affected simplicity, " would reach to the moon ? " " To 
the moon ! Ah, sir, that, I fear, exceeds your calcula- 



352 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

tion." "Not at all, sir; I think I could tell." "Pray, 
then, sir, let us hear." "Why, sir, one, if it ivere long 
enough ! " Johnson growled for a time at finding him- 
self caught in such a trite schoolboy trap. " Well, sir," 
cried he at length, "I have deserved it. I should not 
have provoked so foolish an answer by so foolish a 
question." 

Among the many incidents related as illustrative of 
Goldsmith's vanity and envy is one which occurred one 
evening when he was in a drawing-room with a party of 
ladies, and a ballad-singer under the window struck up 
his favorite song of " Sally Salisbury." "How miserably 
this woman sings ! " exclaimed he. " Pray, Doctor," said 
the lady of the house, "could you do it better?" "Yes, 
madam, and the company shall be judges." The com- 
pany, of course, prepared to be entertained by an absur- 
dity ; but their smiles were wellnigh turned to tears, for 
he acquitted himself with a skill and pathos that drew 
universal applause. He had, in fact, a delicate ear for 
music, which had been jarred by the false notes of the 
ballad-singer ; and there were certain pathetic ballads, 
associated with recollections of his childhood, which 
were sure to touch the springs of his heart. We have 
another story of him, connected with ballad-singing, 
which is still more characteristic. He was one evening 
at the house of Sir William Chambers, in Berners Street, 
seated at a whist-table with Sir William, Lady Chambers, 
and Baretti, when all at once he threw down his cards, 



BALLAD SLNGERS. 353 

hurried out of the room and into the street. He returned 
in an instant, resumed his seat, and the game went on. 
Sir William, after a little hesitation, ventured to ask the 
cause of his retreat, fearing he had been overcome "by 
the heat of the room. " Not at all," replied Goldsmith ; 
" but in truth I could not bear to hear that unfortunate 
woman in the street, half singing, half sobbing, for such 
tones could only arise from the extremity of distress : her 
voice grated painfully on my ear and jarred my frame, so 
that I could not rest until I had sent her away." It was 
in fact a poor ballad-singer whose cracked voice had been 
heard by others of the party, but without having the 
same effect on their sensibilities. It was the reality of 
his fictitious scene in the story of the " Man in Black " ; 
wherein he describes a woman in rags, with one child in 
her arms and another on her back, attempting to sing 
ballads, but with such a mournful voice that it was diffi- 
cult to determine whether she was singing or crying. 
" A wretch," he adds, " who, in the deepest distress, still 
aimed at good-humor, was an object my friend was by no 
means capable of withstanding." The " Man in Black " 
gave the poor woman all that he had — a bundle of 
matches. Goldsmith, it is probable, sent his ballad- 
singer away rejoicing, with all the money in his pocket. 

Ranelagh was at that time greatly in vogue as a place 

of public entertainment. It was situated near Chelsea ; 

the principal room was a Eotunda of great dimensions, 

with an orchestra in the centre, and tiers of boxes all 

S3 



354 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

round. It was a place to which Johnson resorted occa- 
sionally. "I am a great friend to public amusements," 
said he, "for they keep people from vice."* Goldsmith 
was equally a friend to them, though perhaps not alto- 
gether on such moral grounds. He was particularly fond 
of masquerades, which were then exceedingly popular, 
and got up at Kanelagh with great expense and magnifi- 
cence. Sir Joshua Keynolds, who had likewise a taste 
for such amusements, was sometimes his companion ; at 
other times he went alone ; his peculiarities of person and 
manner would soon betray him, whatever might be his 
disguise, and he would be singled out by wags, ac- 
quainted with his foibles, and more successful than him- 
self in maintaining their incognito, as a capital subject 
to be played upon. Some, pretending not to know him, 
would decry his writings, and praise those of his con- 
temporaries ; others would laud his verses to the skies, 
but purposely misquote and burlesque them ; others 
would annoy him with parodies ; while one young lady, 
whom he was teasing, as he supposed, with great suc- 
cess and infinite humor, silenced his rather boisterous 

*"Alas, sir!" said Johnson, speaking, when in another mood, of 
grand houses, fine gardens, and sp]endid places of public amusement ; 
''alas, sir ! these are only struggles for happiness. When I first entered 
Ranelagh it gave an expansion and gay sensation to my mind, such as T 
never experienced anywhere else. But, as Xerxes wept when he reviewed 
his immense army, and considered that not one of that great multitude 
would be alive a hundred years afterwards, so it went to my heart to con- 
sider that there was not one in all that brilliant circle that was not afraid 
to go home and think." 



ANONYMOUS VERSES. 355 

laughter by quoting his own line about " the loud laugh 
that speaks the vacant mind." On one occasion he was 
absolutely driven out of the house by the persevering 
jokes of a wag, whose complete disguise gave him no 
means of retaliation. 

His name appearing in the newspapers among the dis- 
tinguished persons present at one of these amusements, 
his old enemy, Kenrick, immediately addressed to him a 
copy of anonymous verses, to the following purport. 

TO DR. GOLDSMITH; 

ON SEEING HIS NAME IN THE LIST OF MUMMERS AT THE LATE MASQUERADE, 






" How widely different. Goldsmith, are the wayr 
Of Doctors now, and those of ancient days ! 
Theirs taught the truth in academic shades, 
Ours in lewd hops and midnight masquerades 
So changed the times ! say, philosophic sage, 
Whose genius suits so well this tasteful age, 
Is the Pantheon, late a sink obscene, 
Become the fountain of chaste Hippocrene ? 
Or do thy moral numbers quaintly flow, 
Inspired by th' Aganippe of Soho ? 
Do wisdom's sons gorge cates and vermicelli, 
Like beastly Bickerstaffe or bothering Kelly ? 
Or art thou tired of th' undeserved applause, 
Bestowed on. bards affecting Virtue's cause ? 
Is this the good that makes the humble vain. 
The good philosophy should not disdain ? 
If so, let pride dissemble all it can, 
A modern sage is still much less than man." 



356 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

Goldsmith was keenly sensitive to attacks of the kind, 
and meeting Kenrick at the Chapter Coflee-House, called 
him to sharp account for taking such liberty with his 
name, and calling his morals in question, merely on 
account of his being seen at a place of general resort and 
amusement. Kenrick shuffled and sneaked, protesting 
that he meant nothing derogatory to his private charac- 
ter. Goldsmith let him know, however, that he was 
aware of his having more than once indulged in attacks 
of this dastard kind, and intimated that another such 
outran* would be followed by personal chastisement. 

Kenrick, having played the craven in his presence, 
avenged himself as soon as he was gone by complaining 
of his having made a wanton attack upon him, and by 
making coarse comments upon his writings, conversation, 

and person. 

The scurrilous satire of Kenrick, however unmerited, 
may have checked Goldsmith's taste for masquerades. 
Sir Joshua Eeynolds, calling on the poet one morning, 
found him walking about his room in somewhat of a 
reverie, kicking a bundle of clothes before him like a 
football. It proved to be an expensive masquerade 
dress, which he said he had been fool enough to pur- 
chase, and as there was no other way of getting the 
worth of his money, he was trying to take it out in exer- 



cise. 



CHAPTER XXXVI. 



INVITATION TO CHRISTMAS. — THE SPRING-VELVET COAT. — THE HAYMAKING 
WIG. — THE MISCHANCES OF LOO. — THE FAIR CULPRIT. — A DANCE WITH 
THE JESSAMY BRIDE. 



ROM the feverish dissipations of town, Gold- 
smith is summoned away to partake of the ge- 
nial dissipations of the country. In the month 




of December, a letter from Mrs. Bunbury invites him 
down to Barton, to pass the Christmas holidays. The 
letter is written in the usual playful vein which marks 
his intercourse with this charming family. He is to 
come in his " smart spring-velvet coat," to bring a new 
wig to dance with the haymakers in, and above all to 
follow the advice of herself and her sister, (the Jessa- 
my Bride,) in playing loo. This letter, which plays so 
archly, yet kindly, with some of poor Goldsmith's pecu- 
liarities, and bespeaks such real ladylike regard for him, 
requires a word or two of annotation. The spring-velvet 
suit alluded to appears to have been a gallant adorn- 
ment, (somewhat in the style of the famous bloom- 
colored coat,) in which Goldsmith had figured in the 
preceding month of May — the season of blossoms : for, 

357 



358 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

on the 21st of that month, we find the following entry in 
the chronicle of Mr. William Filby, tailor : To your Hue 
velvet suit, £Z1 10s. 9(7. Also, about the same time, a 
suit of livery and a crimson collar for the serving-man. 
Again we hold the Jessamy Bride responsible for this 
gorgeous splendor of wardrobe. 

The new wig no doubt is a bag- wig and solitaire, still 
highly the mode, and in which Goldsmith is represented 
as figuring when in full dress equipped with his sword. 

As to the dancing with the haymakers, we presume it 
alludes to some gambol of the poet, in the course of his 
former visit to Barton ; when he ranged the fields and 
lawns a chartered libertine, and tumbled into the fish- 
ponds. 

As to the suggestions about loo, they are in sportive 
allusion to the Doctor's mode of playing that game in 
their merry evening parties ; affecting the desperate 
gambler and easy dupe ; running counter to all rule ; 
making extravagant ventures ; reproaching all others 
with cowardice ; dashing at all hazards at the pool, and 
getting himself completely loo'd, to the great amuse- 
ment of the company. The drift of the fair sisters' ad- 
vice was most probably to tempt him on, and then leave 
him in the lurch. 

With these comments we subjoin Goldsmith's reply to 
Mrs. Bunbury, a fine piece of off-hand, humorous writing, 
which has but in late years been given to the public, and 
which throws a familiar light on the social circle at Barton, 



LETTER TO MRS. BUNBURT. 359 

" Madam, — I read your letter with all that allowance 
which critical candor could require, but after all find so 
much to object to, and so much to raise my indignation, 
that I cannot help giving it a serious answer. — I am not 
so ignorant, madam, as not to see there are many sar- 
casms contained in it, and solecisms also. (Solecism is a 
word that comes from the town of Soleis in Attica, among 
the Greeks, built by Solon, and applied as we use the 
word Kidderminster for curtains from a town also of that 
name ; — but this is learning you have no taste for !) — I 
say, madam, that there are many sarcasms in it, and sole- 
cisms also. But not to seem an ill-natured critic, I'll 
take leave to quote your own words, and give you my re- 
marks upon them as they occur. You begin as follows : — 

"'I hope, my good Doctor, you soon will be here, 
And your spring-velvet coat very smart will appear, 
To open our ball the first day of the year. ' 

" Pray, madam, where did you ever find the epithet 
' good,' applied to the title of doctor? Had you called 
me 'learned doctor,' or ' grave doctor,' or 'noble doctor,' 
it might be allowable, because they belong to the profes- 
sion. But, not to cavil at trifles, you talk of my ' spring- 
velvet coat,' and advise me to wear it the first day in the 
year, that is, in the middle of winter ! — a spring- velvet 
coat in the middle of winter!!.! That would be a sole- 
cism indeed ! and yet to increase the inconsistency, in 
another part of your letter you call me a beau. Now, 



360 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

on one side or other, you must be wrong. If I am a 
beau, I can never think of wearing a spring-velvet in 
winter ; and if I am not a beau, why then, that explains 
itself. But let me go on to your two next strange 
lines : — 

" ' And bring with you a wig, that is modish and gay, 
To dance with the girls that are makers of hay.' 

" The absurdity of making hay at Christmas you your- 
self seem sensible of : you say your sister will laugh ; 
and so indeed she well may ! The Latins have an ex- 
pression for a contemptuous kind of laughter, * naso 
contemnere adunco ; ' that is, to laugh with a crooked 
nose. She may laugh at you in the manner of the an- 
cients if she thinks fit. But now I come to the most 
extraordinary of all extraordinary propositions, — which 
is, to take your and your sister's advice in playing at loo. 
The presumption of the offer raises my indignation be- 
yond the bounds of prose ; it inspires me at once with 
verse and resentment. I take advice ! and from whom ? 
You shall hear. 

•' First, let me suppose, what may shortly be true, 
The company set, and the word to be Loo : 
All smirking, and pleasant, and big with adventure, 
And ogling the stake which is fix'd in the centre. 
Round and round go the cards, while I inwardly damn 
At never once finding a visit from Pam. 
I lay down my stake, apparently cool, 
While the harpies about me all pocket the pool. 



MISCHANCES OF LOO. 361 

I fret in my gizzard, yet, cautious and sly, 

I wish all my friends may be bolder than I: 

Yet still they sit snug, not a creature will aim 

By losing their money to venture at fame. 

'Tis in vain that at niggardly caution I scold, 

'TxS in vain that I natter the brave and the bold: 

All play their own way, and they think me an ass, . . , 

1 What does Mrs. Bunbury? ' . . ' I, Sir ? I pass.' 

' Pray what does Miss Horneck ? take courage, come do. £ 

1 Who, I? — let me see, sir, why I must pass too.' 

Mr. Bunbury frets, and I fret like the devil, 

To see them so cowardly, lucky, and civil. 

Yet still 1 sit snug, and continue to sigh on, 

Till, made by my losses as bold as a lion, 

I venture at all, while my avarice regards 

The whole pool as my own. . . * Come, give me five cards.* 

' Well done ! ' cry the ladies ; ' ah, Doctor, that's good ! 

The pool's very rich, . . ah ! the Doctor is loo'd ! ' 

Thus foil'd in my courage, on all sides perplext, 

I ask for advice from the lady that's next : 

' Pray, ma'am, be so good as to give your advice ; 

Don't you think the best way is to venture f or't twice ? ' 

' I advise, ' cries the lady, ' to try it, I own. . . 

Ah ! the Doctor is loo'd ! Come, Doctor, put down.' 

Thus, playing, and playing, I still grow more eager, 

And so bold, and so bold, I'm at last a bold beggar. 

Now, ladies, I ask, if law-matters you're skill'd in, 

Whether crimes such as yours should not come before Fielding i 

For giving advice that is not worth a straw, 

May well be call'd picking of pockets in law; 

And picking of pockets, with which I now charge ye, 

Is, by quinto Elizabeth, Death without Clergy. 

What justice, when both to the Old Bailey brought! 

By the gods, I'll enjoy it, tho' 'tis but in thought I 



362 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

Both are placed at the bar, with all proper decorum. 
With bunches of fennel, and nosegays before 'em ; 
Both cover their faces with mobs and all that, 
But the judge bids them, angrily, take off their hat. 
When uncover'd a buzz of inquiry runs round, 

Pray what are their crimes ?'.'.' They've been pilfering found. 1 
' But, pray, who have they pilfer'd ? ' . . 'A doctor, I hear.' 
*What, yon solemn-faced, odd-looking man that stands near ? ' 
'The same.' . . ' What a pity ! how does it surprise one, 
Two handsomer culprits I never set eyes on ! ' 
Then their friends all come round me with cringing and leering, 
To melt me to pity, and soften my swearing. 
First Sir Charles advances with phrases well-strung, 
' Consider, dear Doctor, the girls are but young.' 
' The younger the worse,' I return him again, 
' It shows that their habits are all dyed in grain.' 
' But then they're so handsome, one's bosom it grieves.' 
' What signifies handsome, when people are thieves ?' 
* But where is your justice ? their cases are hard.' 
'What signifies justice 9 I want the reward. 

" * There's the parish of Edmonton offers forty pounds ; 
there's the parish of St. Leonard Shore ditch offers forty 
pounds ; there's the parish of Tyburn, from the Hog-in- 
the-pound to St. Giles's watch-house, offers forty pounds, 
— I shall have all that if I convict them ! ' — 

"' But consider their case, . . it may yet be your own ! 
And see how they kneel ! Is your heart made of stone V 
This moves : . . so at last I agree to relent, 
For ten pounds in hand, and ten pounds to be spent.' 

" I challenge you all to answer this : I tell you, you 



DANCE WITH TEE JE88AMY BRIDE. 363 

cannot. It cuts deep. But now for the rest of the let- 
ter : and next — but I want room — so I believe I shall 
battle the rest out at Barton some day next week. — I 
don't value you all ! O. G." 

We regret that we have no record of this Christmas 
visit to Barton ; that the poet had no Boswell to fol- 
low at his heels, and take note of all his sayings and 
doings. We can only picture him in our minds, casting 
off all care ; enacting the lord of misrule ; presiding at 
the Christmas revels ; providing all kinds of merriment ; 
keeping the card-table in an uproar, and finally opening 
the ball on the first day of the year in his spring-velvet 
suit, with the Jessamy Bride for a partner. 



CHAPTEE XXXVIL 

THEATRICAL DELAYS. — NEGOTIATIONS WITH COLMAN.— LETTER TO GARRICK.— 
CROAKING OF THE MANAGER.— NAMING OF THE PLAY. — " SHE STOOPS TO 
CONQUER." — FOOTE'S PRIMITIVE PUPPET-SHOW, " PIETY ON PATTENS." — 
FIRST PERFORMANCE OF THE COMEDY. — AGITATION OF THE AUTHOR. — SUC- 
CESS.— COLMAN SQUIBBED OUT OF TOWN. 

|HE gay life depicted in the two last chapters, 
while it kept Goldsmith in a state of continual 
excitement, aggravated the malady which was 
impairing his constitution; yet his increasing perplexi- 
ties in money-matters drove him to the dissipation of 
society as a relief from solitary care. The delays of the 
theatre added to those perplexities. He had long since 
finished his new comedy, yet the year 1772 passed away 
without his being able to get it on the stage. No one, un- 
initiated in the interior of a theatre, that little world of 
traps and trickery, can have any idea of the obstacles 
and perplexities multiplied in the way of the most emi- 
nent and successful author by the mismanagement of 
managers, the jealousies and intrigues of rival authors, 
and the fantastic and impertinent caprices of actors. A 
long and baffling negotiation was carried on between 
Goldsmith and Colman, the manager of Covent Garden; 

364 



NEGOTIATIONS WITH COLMAN. 365 

who retained the play in his hands until the middle of 
January, (1773,) without coming to a decision. The 
theatrical season was rapidly passing away, and Gold- 
smith's pecuniary difficulties were augmenting and press- 
ing on him. We may judge of his anxiety by the follow- 
ing letter : — 

" To George Colman, Esq. 

-'Dear Sir, — 

"I entreat you'll relieve me from that state of sus- 
pense in which I have been kept for a long time. What- 
ever objections you have made or shall make to my play, 
I will endeavor to remove and not argue about them. 
To bring in any new judges either of its merits or faults I 
can never submit to. Upon a former occasion, when my 
other play was before Mr. Garrick, he offered to bring 
me before Mr. Whitehead's tribunal, but I refused the 
proposal with indignation : I hope I shall not experience 
as harsh treatment from you as from him. I have, as 
you know, a large sum of money to make up shortly ; by 
accepting my play, I can readily satisfy my creditor 
that way ; at any rate, I must look about to some cer- 
tainty to be prepared. For God's sake take the play, 
and let us make the best of it, and let me have the same 
measure, at least, which you have given as bad plays as 
mine. 

" I am, your friend and servant, 

"Oliver Goldsmith." 



366 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

Colman returned the manuscript with the blank sides 
of the leaves scored with disparaging comments, and 
suggested alterations, but with the intimation that the 
faith of the theatre should be kept, and the play act- 
ed notwithstanding. Goldsmith submitted the criti- 
cisms to some of his friends, who pronounced them 
trivial, unfair, and contemptible, and intimated that Col- 
man, being a dramatic writer himself, might be actu- 
ated by jealousy. The play was then sent, with Col- 
man's comments written on it, to Garrick ; but he had 
scarce sent it when Johnson interfered, represented the 
evil that might result from an apparent rejection of 
it by Covent Garden, and undertook to go forthwith 
to Colman, and have a talk with him on the subject. 
Goldsmith, therefore, penned the following note to Gar- 
rick : — 

"Dear Sir, — 

" I ask many pardons for the trouble I gave you yes- 
terday. Upon more mature deliberation, and the advice 
of a sensible friend, I began to think it indelicate in me 
to throw upon you the odium of confirming Mr. Colman's 
sentence. I therefore request you will send my play 
back by my servant ; for having been assured of having 
it acted at the other house, though I confess yours in 
every respect more to my wish, yet it would be folly in 
me to forego an advantage which lies in my power of 
appealing from Mr. Colman's opinion to the judgment 



CROAKING OF COLMAN. 367 

of the town. I entreat, if not too late, you will keep this 
affair a secret for some time. 

"I am, dear sir, jour very humble servant, 

" Oliver Goldsmith." 

The negotiation of Johnson with the manager of Cov- 
ent Garden was effective. "Colnian," he says, "was pre- 
vailed on at last, by much solicitation, nay, a kind of 
force," to bring forward the comedy. Still the manager 
was ungenerous, or at least indiscreet enough to express 
his opinion that it would not reach a second representa- 
tion. The plot, he said, was bad, and the interest not 
sustained ; " it dwindled, and dwindled, and at last went 
out like the snuff of a candle." The effect of his croak- 
ing was soon aj)parent within the walls of the theatre. 
Two of the most popular actors, Woodward and Gentle- 
man Smith, to whom the parts of Tony Lumpkin and 
Young Marlow were assigned, refused to act them ; one 
of them alleging, in excuse, the evil predictions of the 
manager. Goldsmith was advised to postpone the per- 
formance of his play until he could get these important 
parts well supplied. "No," said he, "I would sooner 
that my play were damned by bad players than merely 
saved by good acting." 

Quick was substituted for Woodward in Tony Lump- 
kin, and Lee Lewis, the harlequin of the theatre, for Gen- 
tleman Smith in Young Marlow ; and both did justice to 
their parts, 



368 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

Great interest was taken by Goldsmith's friends in the 
success of his piece. The rehearsals were attended by 
Johnson, Cradock, Murphy, Keynolds and his sister, 
and the whole Horneck connection, including, of course, 
the Jessamy Bride, whose presence may have contrib- 
uted to flutter the anxious heart of the author. The 
rehearsals went off with great applause; but that Col man 
attributed to the partiality of friends. He continued to 
croak, and refused to risk any expense in new scenery 
or dresses on a play which he was sure would prove a 
failure. 

The time was at hand for the first representation, and 
as yet the comedy was without a title. " We are all in 
labor for a name for Goldy's play," said Johnson, who, as 
usual, took a kind of fatherly protecting interest in poor 
Goldsmith's affairs. " The Old House a New Inn " was 
thought of for a time, but still did not please. Sir 
Joshua Eeynolds proposed " The Belle's Stratagem," an 
elegant title, but not considered applicable, the perplexi- 
ties of the comedy being produced by the mistakes of the 
hero, not the stratagem of the heroine. The name was 
afterwards adopted by Mrs. Cowley for one of her come- 
dies. " The Mistakes of a Night " was the title at length 
fixed upon, to which Goldsmith prefixed the words, " She 
Stoops to Conquer." 

The evil bodings of Colman still continued : they were 
even communicated in the box-office to the servant of 
the Duke of Gloucester, who was sent to engage a box, 



"SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER." 369 

Never did the play of a popular writer struggle into ex- 
istence through more difficulties. 

In the meantime Foote's "Primitive Puppet-Show," 
entitled the "Handsome Housemaid, or Piety on Pat- 
tens," had been brought out at the Haymarket on the 
15th of February. All the world, fashionable and un- 
fashionable, had crowded to the theatre. The street was 
thronged with equipages, — the doors were stormed by 
the mob. The burlesque was completely successful, and 
sentimental comedy received its quietus. Even Garrick, 
who had recently befriended it, now gave it a kick, as he 
saw it going down-hill, and sent Goldsmith a humorous 
prologue to help his comedy of the opposite school. 
Garrick and Goldsmith, however, were now on very cor- 
dial terms, to which the social meetings in ths circle of 
the Hornecks and Bunburys may have contributed. 

On the 15th of March the new comedy was to be per- 
formed. Those who had stood up for its merits, and 
been irritated and disgusted by the treatment it had re- 
ceived from the manager, determined to muster their 
forces, and aid in giving it a good launch upon the town. 
The particulars of this confederation, and of its trium- 
phant success, are amusingly told by Cumberland in his 
memoirs. 

"We were not over-sanguine of success, but perfectly 
determined to struggle hard for our author. We accord- 
ingly assembled our strength at the Shakspeare Tavern, 
in a considerable body, for an early dinner, where Samuel 
24 



370 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

Johnson took the chair at the head of a long table, and 
was the life and soul of the corps; the poet took post 
silently by his side, with the Burkes, Sir Joshua Rey- 
nolds, Fitzherbert, Caleb Whitefoord, and a phalanx of 
North British, predetermined applauders, under the ban- 
ner of Major Mills, — all good men and true. Our illus- 
trious president was in inimitable glee ; and poor Gold- 
smith that day took all his raillery as patiently and com- 
placently as my friend Boswell would have done any day 
or every day of his life. In the meantime we did not 
forget our duty; and though we had a better comedy 
going, in which Johnson was chief actor, we betook our- 
selves in good time to our separate and allotted posts, 
and waited the awful drawing up of the curtain. As 
our stations were preconcerted, so were our signals for 
plaudits arranged and determined upon in a manner that 
gave every one his cue where to look for them, and how 
to follow them up. 

" We had among us a very worthy and efficient mem- 
ber, long since lost to his friends and the world at large, 
Adam Drummond, of amiable memory, who was gifted 
by nature with the most sonorous, and at the same time 
the most contagious laugh that ever echoed from the 
human lungs. The neighing of the horse of the son of 
Hystaspes was a whisper to it ; the whole thunder of the 
theatre could not drown it. This kind and ingenious 
friend fairly forewarned us that he knew no more when 
to give his fire than the cannon did that was planted on 



A LA UGRLXG FUGLEMAN. 371 

a battery. He desired, therefore, to have a flapper at 
his elbow, and I had the honor to be deputed to that 
office. I planted him in an upper box, pretty nearly over 
the stage, in full view of the pit and galleries, and per- 
fectly well situated to give the echo all its play through 
the hollows and recesses of the theatre. The success of 
our manoeuvre was complete. All eyes were upon John- 
son, who sat in a front row of a side-box ; and when he 
laughed, everybody thought themselves warranted to 
roar. In the meantime, my friend followed signals with 
a rattle so irresistibly comic, that, when he had repeated 
it several times, the attention of the spectators was so 
engrossed by his person and performances, that the prog- 
ress of the play seemed likely to become a secondary 
object, and I found it prudent to insinuate to him that he 
might halt his music without any prejudice to the au- 
thor ; but alas ! it was now too late to rein him in ; he 
had laughed upon my signal where he found no joke, and 
now, unluckily, he fancied that he found a joke in almost 
everything that was said; so that nothing in nature could 
be more mal-apropos than some of his bursts every now 
and then were. These were dangerous moments, for the 
pit began to take umbrage ; but we carried our point 
through, and triumphed not only over Colman's judg- 
ment, but our own." 

Much of this statement has been condemned as exag- 
gerated or discolored. Cumberland's memoirs have gen- 
erally been characterized as partaking of romance, and 



372 OLIVER GOLIXWiTB. 

in the present instance he had particular motives for 
tampering with the truth. He was a dramatic writer 
himself, jealous of the success of a rival, and anxious to 
have it attributed to the private management of friends. 
According to various accounts, public and private, such 
management was unnecessary, for the piece was "re- 
ceived throughout with the greatest acclamations." 

Goldsmith, in the present instance, had not dared, as 
on a former occasion, to be present at the first perform- 
ance. He had been so overcome by his apprehensions 
that, at the preparatory dinner, he could hardly utter a 
word, and was so choked that he could not swallow a 
mouthful. When his friends trooped to the theatre, he 
stole away to St. James's Park : there he was found by a 
friend, between seven and eight o'clock, wandering up 
and down the Mall like a troubled sj)irit. With difficulty 
he was persuaded to go to the theatre, where his pres- 
ence might be important should any alteration be neces- 
sary. He arrived at the opening of the fifth act, and 
made his way behind the scenes. Just as he entered 
there was a slight hiss at the improbability of Tony 
Lumpkin's trick on his mother, in persuading her she 
was forty miles off, on Crackskull Common, though she 
had been trundled about on her own grounds. " What's 
that? what's that!" cried Goldsmith to the manager, in 
great agitation. " Pshaw ! Doctor," replied Colman, sar- 
castically, " don't be frightened at a squib, when we've 
been sitting these two hours on a barrel of .gunpowder ! " 



SQUIBS AND CRACKERS. 373 

Though of a most forgiving nature, Goldsmith did not 
easily forget this ungracious and ill-timed sally. 

If Colman was indeed actuated by the paltry motives 
ascribed to him in his treatment of this play, he was 
most amply punished by its success, and by the taunts, 
epigrams, and censures levelled at him through the 
press, in which his false prophecies were jeered at, his 
critical judgment called in question, and he was openly 
taxed with literary jealousy. So galling and unremitting 
was the fire, that he at length wrote to Goldsmith, en- 
treating him "to take him off the rack of the newspa- 
pers " ; in the meantime, to escape the laugh that was 
raised about him in the theatrical world of London, he 
took refuge in Bath during the triumphant career of the 
comedy. 

The following is one of the many squibs which assailed 
the ears of the manager : — 

TO GEORGE COLMAN, ESQ., 

ON THE SUCCESS OF DR. GOLDSMITH'S . NEW COMEDY. 

" Come. Coley, doff those mourning weeds, 
Nor thus with jokes be flamm'd ; 
Tho' Goldsmith's present play succeeds, 
His next may still be damn'd. 

" As this has 'scaped without a fall, 
To sink his next prepare ; 
New actors hire from Wapping Wallj 
And dresses from Rag Fair. 



374 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

"For scenes let tatter'd blankets fly, 
The prologue Kelly write ; 
Then swear again the piece must die 
Before the author's night. 

"Should these tricks fail, the lucky elf, 
To bring to lasting shame, 
E'en write the best you can yourself, 
And print it in his name." 

The solitary hiss, which had startled Goldsmith, was 
ascribed by some of the newspaper scribblers to Cum- 
berland himself, who was " manifestly miserable " at the 
delight of the audience, or to Ossian Macpherson, who 
was hostile to the whole Johnson clique, or to Gold- 
smith's dramatic rival, Kelly. The following is one of 
the epigrams which appeared : — 

" At Dr. Goldsmith's merry play, 
All the spectators laugh, they say ; 
The assertion, sir, I must deny, 
For Cumberland and Kelly cry. 

Ride si sapis" 

Another, addressed to Goldsmith, alludes to Kelly's 
early apprenticeship to stay-making : — 

" If Kelly finds fault with the shape of your muse, 
And thinks that too loosely it plays, 
He surely, dear Doctor, will never refuse 
To make it a new Pair of Stays ! " 

Cradock had returned to the country before the pro- 



SUCCESS. 375 

duction of the play; the following letter, written just 
after the performance, gives an additional picture of the 
thorns which beset an author in the path of theatrical 
literature : — 

Ci My dear Sir, — 

" The play has met with a success much beyond your 
expectations or mine. I thank you sincerely for your 
epilogue, which, however, could not be used, but with 
your permission shall be printed. The story in short is 
this. Murphy sent me rather the outline of an epilogue 
than an epilogue, which was to be sung by Miss Catley 
and which she approved; Mrs. Bulkley, hearing this, 
insisted on throwing up her part" (Miss Hardcastle) 
" unless, according to the custom of the theatre, she 
were permitted to speak the epilogue. In this embar- 
rassment I thought of making a quarrelling epilogue be- 
tween Catley and her, debating ivlw should speak the 
epilogue ; but then Miss Catley refused after I had taken 
the trouble of drawing it out. I was then at a loss in- 
deed ; an epilogue was to be made, and for none but Mrs. 
Bulkley. I made one, and Colman thought it too bad to 
be spoken ; I was obliged, therefore, to try a fourth time, 
and I made a very mawkish thing, as you'll shortly see. 
Such is the history of my stage adventures, and which 
I have at last done with. I cannot help saying that I am 
very sick of the stage ; and though I believe I shall get 
three tolerable benefits, yet I shall, on the whole, be a 



376 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

loser, even in a pecuniary light ; my ease and comfort 
I certainly lost while it was in agitation. 

"I am, my dear Cradock, your obliged and obedient 
servant, Oliver Goldsmith. 

"P. S. — Present my most humble respects to Mrs. 
Cradock." 

Johnson, who had taken such a conspicuous part in 
promoting the interest of Door " Goldy," was triumphant 
at the success of the piece. ct I know of no comedy for 
many years," said he, "that has so much exhilarated an 
audience ; that has answered so much the great end of 
comedy — making an audience merry." 

Goldsmith was happy, also, in gleaning applause from 
less authoritative sources. Northcote, the painter, then 
a youthful pupil of Sir Joshua Reynolds, and Ralph, Sir 
Joshua's confidential man, had taken their stations in the 
gallery to lead the applause in that quarter. Goldsmith 
asked Northcote's opinion of the play. The youth mod- 
estly declared he could not presume to judge on such 
matters. " Did it make you laugh ? " " Oh, exceed- 
ingly ! " " That is all I require," replied Goldsmith ; and 
rewarded him for his criticism by box-tickets for his first 
benefit-night. 

The comedy was immediately put to press, and dedi- 
cated to Johnson in the following grateful and affection- 
ate terms :— 

" In inscribing this slight performance to you, I do not 



DEDICATION. 377 

mean so much to compliment you as myself. It may do 
me some honor to inform the public that I have lived 
many years in intimacy with you. It may serve the 
interests of mankind also to inform them, that the great- 
est wit may be found in a character, without impairing 
the most unaffected piety." 

The copyright was transferred to Mr. Newbery, accord- 
ing to agreement, whose profits on the sale of the work 
far exceeded the debts for which the author in his per- 
plexities had preengaged it. The sum which accrued to 
Goldsmith from his benefit-nights afforded but a slight 
palliation of his pecuniary difficulties. His friends, while 
they exulted in his success, little knew of his continually 
increasing embarrassments, and of the anxiety of mind 
which kept tasking his pen while it impaired the ease 
and freedom of spirit necessary to felicitous composition. 



CHAPTEE XXXVITL 

jL NEWSPAPER ATTACK. — THE EVANS AEFRAY. — JOHNSON'S COMMENT. 



] HE triumphant success of " She Stoops to Con- 
quer" brought forth, of course, those carpings 
IfSfi^Sl and cavillings of underling scribblers, which 
are the thorns and briers in the path of successful au- 
thors. Goldsmith, though easily nettled by attacks of 
the kind, was at present too well satisfied with the re- 
ception of his comedy to heed them ; but the following 
anonymous letter, which appeared in a public paper, was 
not to be taken with equal equanimity : — 

(For the London Packet.} 

"TO DK. GOLDSMITH. 

"Vous vous noyez par vanite. 

"Sir, — The happy knack which you have learned of 
puffing your own compositions provokes me to come 
forth. You have not been the editor of newspapers and 
magazines not to discover the trick of literary humbug ; 
but the gauze is so thin that the very foolish part of the 
world see through it, and discover the doctor's monkey- 

378 



A NEWSPAPER ATTACK. 379 

face and cloven foot. Tour poetic vanity is as unpardon- 
able as your personal. Would man believe it, and will 
woman bear it, to be told that for hours the great Gold- 
smith will stand surveying his grotesque orang-outang's 
figure in a pier-glass? "Was but the lovely H — k as 
much enamored, you would not sigh, my gentle swain, in 
vain. But your vanity is preposterous. How will this 
same bard of Bedlam ring the changes in the praise of 
Goldy ! But what has he to be either proud or vain of ? 
' The Traveller ' is a flimsy poem, built upon false princi- 
ples — principles diametrically opposite to liberty. What 
is ' The Good-natured Man ' but a poor, water-gruel dra- 
matic dose ? What is ' The Deserted Village ' but a 
pretty poem of easy numbers, without fancy, dignity, 
genius, .or fire ? And, pray, what may be the last speak- 
ing pantomime, so praised by the Doctor himself, but an 
incoherent piece of stuff, the figure of a woman with a 
fish's tail, without plot, incident, or intrigue? We are 
made to laugh at stale, dull jokes, wherein we mistake 
pleasantry for wit, and grimace for humor ; wherein 
every scene is unnatural and inconsistent with the rules, 
the laws of nature and of the drama ; viz. : two gentlemen 
come to a man of fortune's house, eat, drink, &c, and 
take it for an inn. The one is intended as a lover for the 
daughter : he talks with her for some hours ; and, when 
he sees her again in a different dress, he treats her as a 
bar-girl, and swears she squinted. He abuses the mas- 
ter of the house, and threatens to kick him out of his 



380 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

own doors. The squire, whom we are told is to be a 
fool, proves to be the most sensible being of the piece ; 
and he makes out a whole act by bidding his mother lie 
close behind a bush, persuading her that his father, her 
own husband, is a highwayman, and that he has come to 
cut their throats ; and, to give his cousin an opportunity 
to go off, he drives his mother over hedges, ditches, and 
through ponds. There is not, sweet, sucking Johnson, a 
natural stroke in the whole play but the young fellow's 
giving the stolen jewels to the mother, supposing her to 
be the landlady. That Mr. Colman did no justice to this 
piece, I honestly allow; that he told all his friends it 
would be damned, I positively aver ; and, from such un- 
generous insinuations, without a dramatic merit, it rose 
to public notice, and it is now the ton to go and see it, 
though I never saw a person that either liked it or ap- 
proved it, any more than the absurd plot of Home's 
tragedy of 'Alonzo.' Mr. Goldsmith, correct your arro- 
gance, reduce your vanity, and endeavor to believe, as a 
man, you are of the plainest sort, — and as an author, but 
a mortal piece of mediocrity. 

" Brise le miroir infidele 
Qui vous cache la verite. 

"Tom Tickle." 

It would be difficult to devise a letter more calculated 
to wound the peculiar sensibilities of Goldsmith. The 
attacks upon him as an author, though annoying enough, 






THE EVANS AFFRAY. 381 

he could have tolerated ; but then the allusion to his 
" grotesque " person ; to his studious attempts to adorn 
it ; and, above all, to his being an unsuccessful admirer of 
the lovely H — k (the Jessamy Bride), struck rudely upon 
the most sensitive part of his highly sensitive nature. 
The paragraph, it is said, was first pointed out to him by 
an officious friend, an Irishman, who told him he was 
bound in honor to resent it; but he needed no such 
prompting. He was in a high state of excitement and 
indignation, and, accompanied by his friend, who is said 
to have been a Captain Higgins, of the marines, he re- 
paired to Paternoster Row, to the shop of Evans, the 
publisher, whom he supposed to be the editor of the 
paper. Evans was summoned by his shopman from an 
adjoining room. Goldsmith announced his name. "I 
have called," added he, " in consequence of a scurrilous 
attack made upon me, and an unwarrantable liberty taken 
with the name of a young lady. As for myself, I care 
little ; but her name must not be sported with. ,, 

Evans professed utter ignorance of the matter, and 
said he would speak to the editor. He stooped to exam- 
ine a file of the paper, in search of the offensive article ; 
whereupon Goldsmith's friend gave him a signal, that 
now was a favorable moment for the exercise of his cane. 
The hint was taken as quick as given, and the cane 
was vigorously applied to the back of the stooping pub- 
lisher. The latter rallied in an instant, and, being a 
stout, high-blooded Welshman, returned the blows with 



382 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

interest. A lamp hanging overhead was broken, and sent 
down a shower of oil upon the combatants ; but the 
battle raged with unceasing fury. The shopman ran off 
for a constable ; but Dr. Kenrick, who happened to be in 
the adjacent room, sallied forth, interfered between the 
combatants, and put an end to the affray. He conducted 
Goldsmith to a coach, in exceedingly battered and tat- 
tered plight, and accompanied him home, soothing him 
with much mock commiseration, though he was generally 
suspected, and on good grounds, to be the author of the 
libel. 

Evans immediately instituted a suit against Goldsmith 
for an assault, but was ultimately prevailed upon to com- 
promise the matter, the poet contributing fifty pounds to 
the Welsh charity. 

Newspapers made themselves, as may well be sup- 
posed, exceedingly merry with the combat. Some cen- 
sured him severely for invading the sanctity of a man's 
own house ; others accused him of having, in his former 
capacity of editor of a magazine, been guilty of the very 
offences that he now resented in others. This drew from 
him the following vindication : — 

" To the Public. 

" Lest it should be supposed that I have been willing 
to correct in others an abuse of which I have been guilty 
myself, I beg leave to declare, that, in all my life, I never 
wrote or dictated a single paragraph, letter, or essay in a 



GOLDSMITH'S VINDICATION. 383 

newspaper, except a few moral essays under the character 
of a Chinese, about ten years ago, in the ' Ledger,' and a 
letter, to which I signed my name, in the ' St. James's 
Chronicle.' If the liberty of the press, therefore, has 
been abused, I have had no hand in it. 

" I have always considered the press as the protector 
of our freedom, as a watchful guardian, capable of unit- 
ing the weak against the encroachments of power. What 
concerns the public most properly admits of a public 
discussion. But, of late, the press has turned from de- 
fending public interest to making inroads upon private 
life ; from combating the strong to overwhelming the 
feeble. No condition is now too obscure for its abuse> 
and the protector has become the tyrant of the people. 
In this manner the freedom of the press is beginning to 
sow the seeds of its own dissolution; the great must 
oppose it from principle, and the weak from fear ; till at 
last every rank of mankind shall be found to give up its 
benefits, content with security from insults. 

"How to put a stop to this licentiousness, by which 
all are indiscriminately abused, and by which vice con- 
sequently escapes in the general censure, I am unable to 
tell ; all I could wish is, that, as the law gives us no pro- 
tection against the injury, so it should give calumniators 
no shelter after having provoked correction. The insults 
which we receive before the public, by being more open, 
are the more distressing; by treating them with silent 
contempt we do not pay a sufficient deference to the 



384 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

opinion of the world. By recurring to legal redress we 
too often expose the weakness of the law r , which only 
serves to increase our mortification by failing to relieve 
us. In short, every man should singly consider himself 
as the guardian of the liberty of the press, and, as far as 
his influence can extend, should endeavor to prevent its 
licentiousness becoming at last the grave of its freedom. 

" Oliver Goldsmith." 

Boswell, who had just arrived in town, met with this 
article in a newspaper which he found at Dr. Johnson's. 
The Doctor was from home at the time, and Bozzy and 
Mrs. Williams, in a critical conference over the letter, de- 
termined from the style that it must have been written 
by the lexicographer himself. The latter on his return 
soon undeceived them. "Sir," said he to Boswell, " Gold- 
smith would no more have asked me to have wrote such 
a thing as that for him than he would have asked me to 
feed him with a spoon, or do anything else that denoted 
his imbecility. Sir, had he shown it to any one friend, 
he would not have been allowed to publish it. He has, 
indeed, done it very well ; but it is a foolish thing well 
done. I suppose he has been so much elated with the 
success of his new comedy, that he has thought every- 
thing that concerned him must be of importance to the 
public." 




CHAPTER XXXIX. 

OOSWELL IN HOLY- WEEK. —DINNER AT OGLETHORPE'S. — DINNER AT PAOLl'S.-* 
1 THE POLICY OF TRUTH. — GOLDSMITH AFFECTS INDEPENDENCE OF ROT 
ALTY. — PAOLl'S COMPLIMENT.— JOHNSON'S EULOGIUM ON THE FIDDLE.— 
QUESTION ABOUT SUICIDE.— BOSWELL'S SUBSERVIENCY. 

j|HE return of Bos well to town to his task of 
noting clown the conversations of Johnson, en- 
ables ns to glean from his journal some scanty 
notices of Goldsmith. It was now Holy- Week, a time 
during which Johnson was particularly solemn in his 
manner and strict in his devotions. Boswell, who was the 
imitator of the great moralist in everything, assumed, 
of course, an extra devoutness on the present occasion. 
"He had an odd mock solemnity of tone and manner," 
said Miss Burney, (afterwards Madame D'Arblay,) 
"which he had acquired from constantly thinking, and 
imitating Dr. Johnson." It would seem that he under- 
took to deal out some second-hand homilies, a la Johnson, 
for the edification of Goldsmith during Holy-Week. The 
poet, whatever might be his religious feeling, had no dis- 
position to be schooled by so shallow an apostle. " Sir," 

said he in reply, "as I take my shoes from the shoe- 
25 385 



386 OLIVER GOLDSMITK 

maker, and my coat from the tailor, so I take my religion 
from the priest." 

Boswell treasured up the reply in his memory or his 
memorandum-book. A few days afterwards, the 9th of 
April, he kept Good Friday with Br. Johnson, in ortho- 
dox style ; breakfasted with him on tea and cross-buns ; 
went to church with him morning and evening ; fasted in 
the interval, and read with him in the Greek Testament : 
then, in the piety of his heart, complained of the sore 
rebuff he had met with in the course of his religious 
exhortations to the poet, and lamented that the latter 
should indulge in " this loose way of talking." " Sir," 
replied Johnson, " Goldsmith knows nothing — he has 
made up his mind about nothing." 

This reply seems to have gratified the lurking jealousy 
of Boswell, and he has recorded it in his journal. John- 
son, however, with respect to Goldsmith, and indeed with 
respect to everybody else, blew hot as well as cold, ac- 
cording to the humor he was in. Boswell, who was 
astonished and piqued at the continually increasing 
celebrity of the poet, observed some time after to John- 
son, in a tone of surprise, that Goldsmith had acquired 
more fame than all the officers of the last war who were 
not generals. "Why, sir," answered Johnson, his old 
feeling of good- will working uppermost, "you will find 
ten thousand fit to do what they did, before you find one 
to do what Goldsmith has done. You must consider that 
a thing is valued according to its rarity. A pebble that 



DINNER AT OGLETHORPE'S. 387 

paves the street is in itself more useful than the diamond 
upon a lady's finger." 

On the 13th of April we find Goldsmith and Johnson 
at the table of old General Oglethorpe, discussing the 
question of the degeneracy of the human race. Gold- 
smith asserts the fact, and attributes it to the influence 
of luxury. Johnson denies the fact, and observes, that, 
even admitting it, luxury could not be the cause. It 
reached but a small proportion of the human race. Sol- 
diers, on sixpence a day, could not indulge in luxuries ; 
the poor and laboring classes, forming the great mass 
of mankind, were out of its sphere. Wherever it could 
reach them, it strengthened them and rendered them 
prolific. The conversation was not of particular force or 
point as reported by Boswell ; the dinner-party was a 
very small one, in which there was no provocation to in- 
tellectual display. 

After dinner they took tea with the ladies, where we 
find poor Goldsmith happy and at home, singing Tony 
Lumpkin's song of the "Three Jolly Pigeons," and 
another, called the "Humors of Ballamaguery," to a 
very pretty Irish tune. It was to have been introduced 
in " She Stoops to Conquer," but was left out s as the 
actress who played the heroine could not sing. 

It was in these genial moments that the sunshine of 
Goldsmith's nature would break out, and he would say 
and do a thousand whimsical and agreeable things that 
made him the life of the strictly social circle. Johnson, 



388 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

with whom conversation was everything, used to judge 
Goldsmith too much by his own colloquial standard, and 
undervalue him for being less provided than himself with 
acquired facts, the ammunition of the tongue and often 
the mere lumber of the memory ; others, however, valued 
him for the native felicity of his thoughts, however care- 
lessly expressed, and for certain good-fellow qualities, 
less calculated to dazzle than to endear. " It is amaz- 
ing," said Johnson one day, after he himself had been 
talking like an oracle ; " it is amazing how little Gold- 
smith knows; he seldom comes where he is not more 
ignorant than any one else." "Yet," replied Sir Joshua 
Reynolds, with affectionate promptness, " there is no 
man whose company is more liked." 

Two or three clays after the dinner at General Ogle- 
thorpe's, Goldsmith met Johnson again at the table of 
General Paoli, the hero of Corsica. Martinelli, of Flor- 
ence, author of an Italian History of England, was among 
the guests ; as was Boswell, to whom we are indebted 
for minutes of the conversation which took place. The 
question was debated whether Martinelli should continue 
his history down to that day. " To be sure he should," 
said Goldsmith. "No, sir," cried Johnson, "it would 
give great offence. He would have to tell of almost all 
the living great what they did not wish told." Gold- 
smith. — "It may, perhaps, be necessary for a native to 
be more cautious ; but a foreigner, who comes among us 
without prejudice, may be considered as holding the 



THE POLICY OF TRUTH. 389 

place of a judge, and may speak his mind freely." John- 
son. — " Sir, a foreigner, when he sends a work from the 
press, ought to be on his guard against catching the error 
and mistaken enthusiasm of the people among whom he 
happens to be." Goldsmith. — "Sir, he wants only to sell 
his history, and to tell truth ; one an honest, the other a 
laudable motive." Johnson. — " Sir, they are both laud- 
able motives. It is laudable in a man to wish to live by 
his labors ; but he should write so as he may live by 
them, not so as he may be knocked on the head. I 
would advise him to be at Calais before he publishes his 
history of the present age. A foreigner who attaches 
himself to a political party in this country is in the worst 
state that can be imagined ; he is looked upon as a mere 
intermeddler. A native may do it from interest." Bos- 
well. — "Or principle." Goldsmith. — "There are people 
who tell a hundred political lies every day, and are not 
hurt by it. Surely, then, one may tell truth with perfect 
safety." Johnson. — "Why, sir, in the first place, he who 
tells a hundred lies has disarmed the force of his lies. 
But, besides, a man had rather have a hundred lies told 
of him than one truth which he does not wish to be 
told." Goldsmith. — "For my part, I'd tell the truth, and 
shame the devil." Johnson. — "Yes, sir, but the devil 
will be angry. I wish to shame the devil as much as you 
do, but I should choose to be out of the reach of his 
claws." Goldsmith. — "His claws can do you no hurt 
you where have the shield of truth." 



390 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

This last reply was one of Goldsmith's lucky hits, and 
closed the argument in his favor. 

" We talked," writes Boswell, " of the King's coming to 
see Goldsmith's new play." "I wish he would," said 
Goldsmith, adding, however, with an affected indifference, 
"not that it would do me the least good." " Well, then,'' 
cried Johnson, laughing, "let us say it would do Mm 
good. No, sir, this affectation will not pass, — it is mighty 
idle. In such a state as ours, who would not wish to 
please the chief magistrate? " 

"I do wish to please him," rejoined Goldsmith. "I 
remember a line in Dryden : — 

" 'And every poet is the monarch's friend ;' 

it ought to be reversed." "Nay," said Johnson, "there 
are finer lines in Dryden on this subject : 

" 'For colleges on bounteous kings depend, 
And never rebel was to arts a friend.' " 

General Paoli observed that "successful rebels might 
be." "Happy rebellions," interjected Martinelli. "We 
have no such phrase," cried Goldsmith. "But have you 
not the thing?" asked Paoli. "Yes," replied Goldsmith, 
"all our happy revolutions. They have hurt our consti- 
tution, and icill hurt it, till we mend it by another hafpy 
revolution." This was a sturdy sally of Jacobitism. 
that quite surprised Boswell, but must have been reL 
ished by Johnsdn. 



PAOLI'S COMPLIMENT. 391 

General Paoli mentioned a passage in the play, which 
had been construed into a compliment to a lady of dis- 
tinction, whose marriage with the Duke of Cumberland 
had excited the strong disapprobation of the King as a 
mesalliance. Boswell, to draw Goldsmith out, pretended 
to think the compliment unintentional. The poet smiled 
and hesitated. The General came to his relief. "Mon- 
sieur Goldsmith," said he, "est comme la mer, qui jette 
des perles et beaucoup d'autres belles choses, sans s'en 
appercevoir." (Mr. Goldsmith is like the sea, which 
casts forth pearls and many other beautiful things with- 
out perceiving it.) 

"Tres-bien dit, et tres-elegamment," (very well said, 
and very elegantly,) exclaimed Goldsmith, delighted with 
so beautiful a compliment from such a quarter. 

Johnson spoke disparagingly of the learning of Mr. 
Harris, of Salisbury, and doubted his being a good Gre- 
cian. "He is what is much better," cried Goldsmith, 
with prompt good-nature, — "he is a worthy, humane 
man." "Nay, sir," rejoined the logical Johnson, "that 
is not to the purpose of our argument ; that will prove 
that he can play upon the fiddle as well as Giardini, as 
that he is an eminent Grecian." Goldsmith found he 
had got into a scrape, and seized upon Giardini to help 
him out of it. " The greatest musical performers," said 
he, dexterously turning the conversation, " have but small 
emoluments ; Giardini, I am told, does not get above 
seven hundred a year." " That is indeed but little for a 



392 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

man to get," observed Johnson, "who does best that 
which so many endeavor to do. There is nothing, I think, 
in which the power of art is shown so much as in play- 
ing on the fiddle. In all other things we can do some- 
thing at first. Any man will forge a bar of iron, if you 
give him a hammer; not so well as a smith, but tolera- 
bly. A man will saw a piece of wood, and make a box, 
though a clumsy one ; but give him a fiddle and fiddel- 
stick and he can do nothing." 

This, upon the whole, though reported by the one- 
sided Boswell, is a tolerable specimen of the conversa- 
tions of Goldsmith and Johnson ; the former heedless, 
often illogical, always on the kind-hearted side of the 
question, and prone to redeem himself by lucky hits ; the 
latter closely argumentative, studiously sententious, often 
profound, and sometimes laboriously prosaic. 

They had an argument a few days later at Mr. Thrale's 
table, on the subject of suicide. " Do you think, sir," 
said Boswell, " that all who commit suicide are mad ? " 
" Sir," replied Johnson, " they are not often universally 
disordered in their intellects, but one passion presses 
so upon them that they yield to it, and commit suicide, 
as a passionate man will stab another. I have often 
thought," added he, "that after a man has taken the 
resolution to kill himself, it is not courage in him to do 
anything, however desperate, because he has nothing to 
fear." "I don't see that," observed Goldsmith. "Nay, 
but, my dear sir," rejoined Johnson, "why should you 



QUESTION ABOUT SUICIDE. 393 

not see what every one else does?" "It is," replied 
Goldsmith, " for fear of something that he has resolved 
to kill himself ; and will not that timid disposition re- 
strain him?" "It does not signify," pursued Johnson, 
" that the fear of something made him resolve ; it is upon 
the state of his mind, after the resolution is taken, that 1 
argue. Suppose a man, either from fear, or pride, or 
conscience, or whatever motive, has resolved to kill him- 
self ; when once the resolution is taken he has nothing 
to fear. He may then go and take the King of Prussia 
by the nose at the head of his army. He cannot fear 
the rack who is determined to kill himself." Boswell 
reports no more of the discussion, though Goldsmith 
might have continued it with advantage : for the very 
timid disposition, which through fear of something was 
impelling the man to commit suicide, might restrain him 
from an act involving the punishment of the rack, more 
terrible to him than death itself. 

It is to be regretted in all these reports by Boswell, 
we have scarcely anything but the remarks of Johnson ; 
it is only by accident that he now and then gives us the 
observations of others, when they are necessary to ex- 
plain or set off those of his hero. " When in that pres- 
ence" says Miss Burney, "he was unobservant, if not 
contemptuous of every one else. In truth, when he met 
with Dr. Johnson, he commonly forbore even answering 
anything that was said, or attending to anything that 
went forward, lest he should miss the smallest sound 



394 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

from that voice, to which lie paid such exclusive, though 
merited homage. But the moment that voice burst forth, 
the attention which it excited on Mr. Boswell amounted 
almost to pain. His eyes goggled with eagerness ; he 
leant his ear almost on the shoulder of the Doctor ; and 
his mouth dropped open to catch every syllable that 
might be uttered ; nay, he seemed not only to dread losing 
a word, but to be anxious not to miss a breathing, as if 
hoping from it latently, or mystically, some information. 

On one occasion the Doctor detected Boswell, or Bozzy, 
as he called him, eavesdropping behind his chair, as he 
was conversing with Miss Burney at Mr. Thrale's table. 
" What are you doing there, sir ? " cried he, turning 
round angrily, and clapping his hand upon his knee. 
"Go to the table, sir." 

Boswell obeyed with an air of affright and submission, 
which raised a smile on every face. Scarce had he taken 
his seat, however, at a distance, than, impatient to get 
again at the side of Johnson, he rose and was running off 
in quest of something to show him, when the Doctor roar- 
ed after him authoritatively, " What are you thinking of, 
sir ? Why do you get up before the cloth is removed ? 
Come back to your place, sir ; " — and the obsequious 
spaniel did as he was commanded. — " Running about in 
the middle of meals ! " muttered the Doctor, pursing his 
mouth at the same time to restrain his rising risibility. 

Boswell got another rebuff from Johnson, which would 
have demolished any other man. He had been teasing 



BOS WELZ'S SUBSERVIENCY. 395 

liim with many direct questions, such as, 'What did 
you do, sir ? — What did you say, sir ? " until the great 
philologist became perfectly enraged. "I will not be 
put to the question!" roared he. "Don't you consider, 
sir, that these are not the manners of a gentleman ? I 
will not be baited with ichat and why ; — What is this ? 
What is that ? Why is a cow's tail long ? Why is a 
fox's tail bushy ? " " Why, sir," replied pilgarlick, "you 
are so good that I venture to trouble you." " Sir," re- 
plied Johnson, " my being so good is no reason why you 
should be so ill" " You have but two topics, sir," ex- 
claimed he on another occasion, " yourself and me, and I 
am sick of both." 

Boswell's inveterate disposition to toad, was a sore 
cause of mortification to his father, the old laird of 
Auchinleck, (or Affleck.) He had been annoyed by his 
extravagant devotion to Paoli, but then he was some- 
thing of a military hero ; but this tagging at the heels of 
Dr. Johnson, whom he considered a kind of pedagogue, 
set his Scotch blood in a ferment. " There's nae hope 
for Jamie, mon," said he to a friend ; — " Jamie is gaen 
clean gyte. What do you think, mon ? He's done wi' 
Paoli ; he's off wi' the landlouping scoundrel of a Corsi= 
can ; and whose tail do you think he has pinn'd himself 
to now, man ? A dominie, mon ; an auld dominie ; he 
keeped a schule, and cau'd it an acaadamy." 

We shall show in the next chapter that Jamie's de- 
votion to the dominie did not go unrewarded. 



CHAPTEK 



CHANGES IN THE LITERARY CLUB.— JOHNSON'S OBJECTION TO GARRICK.— ELEC 
TION OF BOSWELL. 



HE Literary Club (as we have termed the club 
in Gerard Street, though it took that name 
some time later) had now been in existence 
several years. Johnson was exceedingly chary at first 
of its exclusiveness, and opposed to its being augmented 
in number. Not long after its institution, Sir Joshua 
Reync Ids " was speaking of it to Garrick. "I like it 
much, " said little David, briskly ; " I think I shall be of 
you." "When Sir Joshua mentioned this to Dr. John- 
son," says Boswell, " he was much displeased with the 
actor's conceit. ' Hell be of us ? ' growled he. ' How 
does he know we will permit him ? The first duke in 
England has no right to hold such language.' " 

When Sir John Hawkins spoke favorably of Garrick's 
pretensions, " Sir," replied Johnson, " he will disturb us 
by his buffoonery." In the same spirit he declared to 
Mr. Thrale, that, if Garrick should apply for admission, he 
would black-ball him. "Who, sir?" exclaimed Thrale, 
with surprise ; " Mr. Garrick — your friend, your compan- 

396 



JOHNSON'S OBJECTION TO GARBICK. 397 

ion — black-ball him ! " " Why, sir," replied Johnson, " I 
love my little David dearly — better than all or any of his 
flatterers do; but surely one ought to sit in a society 
like ours, 

" ' Unelbowed by a gamester, pimp, or player.' " 

The exclusion from the club was a sore mortification 
to Garrick, though he bore it without complaining. He 
could not help continually to ask questions about it — 
what was going on there — whether he was ever the sub- 
ject of conversation. By degrees the rigor of the club 
relaxed : some of the members grew negligent. Beau- 
clerc lost his right of membership by neglecting to at- 
tend. On his marriage, however, with Lady Diana Spen- 
cer, daughter of the Duke of Marlborough, and recently 
divorced from Viscount Bolingbroke, he had claimed and 
regained his seat in the club. The number of members 
had likewise been augmented. The proposition to in- 
crease it originated with Goldsmith. "It would give," 
he thought, " an agreeable variety to their meetings ; for 
there can be nothing new amongst us," said he; "we 
have travelled over each other's minds." Johnson was 
piqued at the suggestion. " Sir," said he, "you have not 
travelled over my mind, I promise you." Sir Joshua, 
less confident in the exhaustless fecundity of his mind, 
felt and acknowledged the force of Goldsmith's sugges- 
tion. Several new members, therefore, had been added ; 
the first, to his great joy, was David Garrick, Gold- 



398 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

smith, who was now on cordial terms with him, had 
zealously promoted his election, and Johnson had given 
it his warm approbation. Another new member was 
Beauclerc's friend, Lord Charlemont ; and a still more 
important one was Mr. (afterwards Sir William) Jones, 
the famous Orientalist, at that time a young lawyer ot 
the Temple and a distinguished scholar. 

To the great astonishment of the club, Johnson now 
proposed his devoted follower, Boswell, as a member. 
He did it in a note addressed to Goldsmith, who pre- 
sided on the evening of the 23d of April. The nomina- 
tion was seconded by Beauclerc. According to the rules 
of the club, the ballot would take place at the next meet- 
ing (on the 30th) ; there was an intervening week, there- 
fore, in which to discuss the pretensions of the candidate. 
We may easily imagine the discussions that took place. 
Boswell had made himself absurd in such a variety of 
ways that the very idea of his admission was exceedingly 
irksome to some of the members. " The honor of being 
elected into the Turk's Head Club," said the Bishop of 
St. Asaph, "is not inferior to that of being representa- 
tive of Westminster and Surrey ; " what had Boswell 
done to merit such an honor ? What chance had he of 
gaining it? The answer was simple: he had been the 
persevering worshipper, if not sycophant of Johnson. 
The great lexicographer had a heart to be won by appa- 
rent affection ; he stood forth authoritatively in support 
of his vassaj. If asked to state the merits of the candi- 



ELECTION OF BOSWELL. 399 

date, he summed them up in an indefinite but compre- 
hensive word of his own coining : — he was clubable. He 
moreover gave significant hints that if Boswell were kept 
out he should oppose the admission of any other candi- 
date. No further opposition was made ; in fact none of 
the members had been so fastidious and exclusive in 
regard to the club as Johnson himself ; and if he were 
pleased, they were easily satisfied : besides, they knew 
that, with all his faults, Boswell was a cheerful compan- 
ion, and possessed lively social qualities. 

On Friday, when the ballot was to take place, Beau- 
clerc gave a dinner, at his house in the Adelphi, where 
Boswell met several of the members who were favorable 
to his election. After dinner the latter adjourned to the 
club, leaving Boswell in company with Lady Di Beau- 
clerc until the fate of his election should be known. He 
sat, he says, in a state of anxiety which even the charm- 
ing conversation of Lady Di could not entirely dissipate. 
It was not long before tidings were brought of his elec- 
tion, and he was conducted to the place of meeting, 
where, beside the company he had met at dinner, Burke, 
Dr. Nugent, Garrick, Goldsmith, and Mr. William Jones 
were waiting to receive him. The club, notwithstanding 
all its learned dignity in the eyes of the world, could at 
times "unbend and play the fool 5 ' as well as less impor- 
tant bodies. Some of its jocose conversations have at 
times leaked out, and a society in which Goldsmith 
could venture to sing his song of " an old woman tossed 



400 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

in a blanket," could not be so very staid in its gravity. 
We may suppose, therefore, the jokes that had been 
passing among the members while awaiting the arrival 
of Boswell. Beauclerc himself could not have repressed 
his disposition for a sarcastic pleasantry. At least we 
have a right to presume all this from the conduct of Dr 
Johnson himself. 

With all his gravity he possessed a deep fund of quiet 
humor, and felt a kind of whimsical resi3onsibility to 
protect the club from the absurd propensities of the very 
questionable associate he had thus inflicted on them. 
Rising, therefore, as Boswell entered, he advanced with 
a very doctor ial air, placed himself behind a chair, on 
which he leaned as on a desk or pulpit, and then deliv- 
ered, ex cathedra, a mock solemn charge, pointing out the 
conduct expected from him as a good member of the 
club ; what he was to do, and especially what he was to 
avoid ; including in the latter, no doubt, all those petty, 
prying, questioning, gossiping, babbling habits which 
had so often grieved the spirit of the lexicographer. It is 
to be regretted that Boswell has never thought proper to 
note down the particulars of this charge, which, from the 
well-known characters and positions of the parties, might 
have furnished a parallel to the noted charge of Launce- 
lot Gobbo to his dog. 

T 



CHAPTER XLL 

dinger at dilly's. — conversations on natural history. — intermed- 
dling of boswell. — dispute about toleration. — johnson's rebuff 
to goldsmith; his apology. — man-worship. —doctors major and 
minor. — a farewell visit. 

|:/r^v^|| FEW days after the serio-comic scene of the 
l-^Bljayfe elevation of Boswell into the Literary Club, 
p S^Iik: we find that indefatigable biographer giving 
particulars of a dinner at the Dilly's, booksellers, in the 
Poultry, at which he met Goldsmith and Johnson, with 
several other literary characters. His anecdotes of the 
conversation, of course, go to glorify Dr. Johnson; for, 
as he observes in his biography, " his conversation alone, 
or what led to it, or was interwoven with it, is the busi- 
ness of this work." Still on the present, as on other oc- 
casions, he gives unintentional and perhaps unavoidable 
gleams of Goldsmith's good sense, which show that the 
latter only wanted a less prejudiced and more impartial 
reporter, to put down the charge of colloquial incapacity 
so unjustly fixed upon him. The conversation turned 
upon the natural history of birds, a beautiful subject, on 
which the poet, from his recent studies, his habits of ob- 
servation, and his natural tastes, must have talked with 
26 401 



402 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

instruction and feeling; yet, though we have much of 
what Johnson said, we have only a casual remark or two 
of Goldsmith. One was on the migration of swallows, 
which he pronounced partial; "the stronger ones," said 
he, " migrate, the others do not." 

Johnson denied to the brute creation the faculty of 
reason. " Birds," said he, " build by instinct ; they 
never improve ; they build their first nest as well as any 
one they ever build." "Yet we see," observed Gold- 
smith, " if you take away a bird's-nest with the eggs in 
it, she will make a slighter nest and lay again." " Sir," 
replied Johnson, " that is because at first she has full 
time, and makes her nest deliberately. In the case you 
mention, she is pressed to lay, and must, therefore, make 
her nest quickly, and consequently it will be slight." 
" The nidification of birds," rejoined Goldsmith, " is what 
is least known in natural history, though one of the most 
curious things in it." While conversation was going on 
in this placid, agreeable, and instructive manner, the 
eternal meddler and busybody, Boswell, must intrude to 
put in a brawl. The Dillys were dissenters ; two of their 
guests were dissenting clergymen ; another, Mr. Top- 
lady, was a clergyman of the established church. John- 
son himself was a zealous, uncompromising churchman. 
None but a marplot like Boswell would have thought, 
on such an occasion and in such company, to broach the 
subject of religious toleration ; but, as has been well ob- 
served, "it was his perverse inclination to introduce 






DISPUTE ABOUT TOLERATION. 403 

subjects that he hoped would produce difference and 
debate." In the present instance he gained his point. 
An animated dispute immediately arose, in which, ac- 
cording to Boswell's report, Johnson monopolized the 
greater part of the conversation ; not always treating the 
dissenting clergymen with the greatest courtesy, and even 
once wounding the feelings of the mild and amiable Ben- 
net Langton by his harshness. 

Goldsmith mingled a little in the dispute and with 
some advantage, but was cut short by flat contradictions 
when most in the right. He sat for a time silent but 
impatient under such overbearing dogmatism, though 
Boswell, with his usual misinterpretation, attributes his 
" restless agitation " to a wish to get in and shine. "Find- 
ing himself excluded," continues Boswell, " he had taken 
his hat to go away, but remained for a time with it in his 
hand, like a gamester who at the end of a long night lin- 
gers for a little while to see if he can have a favorable 
opportunity to finish with success." Once he was be- 
ginning to speak, when he was overpowered by the loud 
voice of Johnson, who was at the opposite end of the 
table, and did not perceive his attempt ; whereupon he 
threw down, as it were, his hat and his argument, and, 
darting an angry glance at Johnson, exclaimed in a bit- 
ter tone, " Take it." 

Just then one of the disputants was beginning to speak, 
when Johnson uttering some sound, as if about to inter- 
rupt him, Goldsmith, according to Boswell, seized the. 



404 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

opportunity to vent his own envy and spleen under pre- 
text of supporting another person. " Sir," said he to 
Johnson, " the gentleman has heard you patiently for an 
hour ; pray allow us now to hear him." It was a reproof 
in the lexicographer's own style, and he may have felt 
that he merited it; but he was not accustomed to be re- 
proved. " Sir," said he, sternly, " I was not interrupt- 
ing the gentleman ; I was only giving him a signal of my 
attention. Sir, you are impertinent." Goldsmith made no 
reply, but after some time went away, having another en- 
gagement. 

That evening, as Boswell was on the way with John- 
son and Langton to the club, he seized the occasion to 
make some disparaging remarks on Goldsmith, which he 
thought would just then be acceptable to the great lexi- 
cographer. "It was a pity," he said, "that Goldsmith 
would on every occasion endeavor to shine, by which he 
so often exposed himself." Langton contrasted him with 
Addison, who, content with the fame of his writings, ac- 
knowledged himself unfit for conversation; and on be- 
ing taxed by a lady with silence in company, replied, 
"Madam, I have but ninepence in ready money, but I 
can draw for a thousand pounds." To this Boswell re- 
joined that Goldsmith had a great deal of gold in his 
cabinet, but was always taking out his purse. "Yes, sir," 
chuckled Johnson, " and that so often an empty purse." 

By the time Johnson arrived at the club, however, his 
angry feelings had subsided, and his native generosity and 



REPROOF TO B08WELL. 405 

sense of justice had got the uppermost. He found Gold- 
smith in company with Burke, Garrick, and other mem- 
bers, but sitting silent and apart, " brooding," as Bos- 
well says, " over the reprimand he had received." John- 
son's good heart yearned towards him ; and knowing 
his placable nature, " I'll make Goldsmith forgive me," 
whispered he ; then, with a loud voice, " Dr. Goldsmith," 
said he, "something passed to-day where you and I 
dined, — I ask your pardon." The ire of the poet was ex- 
tinguished in an instant, and his grateful affection for the 
magnanimous though sometimes overbearing moralist 
rushed to his heart. " It must be much from you, sir," 
said he, " that I take ill ! " " And so," adds Boswell, 
" the difference was over, and they were on as easy terms 
as ever, and Goldsmith rattled away as usual." We do 
not think these stories tell to the poet's disadvantage, 
even though related by Boswell. 

Goldsmith, with all his modesty, could not be ignorant 
of his proper merit, and must have felt annoyed at times 
at being undervalued and elbowed aside by light-minded 
or dull men, in their blind and exclusive homage to the 
literary autocrat. It was a fine reproof he gave to Bos- 
well on one occasion, for talking of Johnson as entitled 
to the honor of exclusive superiority. " Sir, you are for 
making a monarchy what should be a republic." On 
another occasion, when he was conversing in company 
with great vivacity, and apparently to the satisfaction 
of those around him, an honest Swiss who sat near, one 



406 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

George Michael Moser, keeper of the Royal Academy, 
perceiving Dr. Johnson rolling himself as if about to 
speak, exclaimed, "Stay, stay! Toctor Shonson is going 
to say something." " And are you sure, sir," replied 
Goldsmith, sharply, " that you can comprehend what he 
says ? " 

This clever rebuke, which gives the main zest to the 
anecdote, is omitted by Boswell, who probably did not 
perceive the point of it. 

He relates another anecdote of the kind on the au- 
thority of Johnson himself. The latter and Goldsmith 
were one evening in company with the Rev. George Gra- 
ham, a master of Eton, who, notwithstanding the so- 
briety of his cloth, had got intoxicated " to about the 
pitch of looking at one man and talking to another." 
" Doctor," cried he, in an ecstasy of devotion and good- 
will, but goggling by mistake upon Goldsmith, " I should 
be glad to see you at Eton." "I shall be glad to wait 
upon you," replied Goldsmith. " No, no ! " cried the 
other, eagerly; "'tis not you I mean, Doctor Minor, 'tis 
Doctor Major there." "You may easily conceive," said 
Johnson, in relating the anecdote, " what effect this had 
upon Goldsmith, who was irascible as a hornet." The 
only comment, however, which he is said to have made, 
partakes more of quaint and dry humor than bitterness. 
" That Graham," said he, " is enough to make one com- 
mit suicide." What more could be said to express the 
intolerable nuisance of a consummate bore? 



GOLDSMITH AND JOHNSON. 407 

We have now given the last scenes between Goldsmith 
and Johnson which stand recorded by Boswell. The 
latter called on the poet, a few days after the dinner at 
Dilly's, to take leave of him prior to departing for Scot- 
land ; yet, even in this last interview, he contrives to get 
up a charge of "jealousy and envy." Goldsmith, he would 
fain persuade us, is very angry that Johnson is going to 
travel with him in Scotland, and endeavors to persuade 
him that he will be a dead weight "to lug along through 
the Highlands and Hebrides." Any one else, knowiug 
the character and habits of Johnson, would have thought 
the same ; and no one but Boswell would have sup- 
posed his office of bear-leader to the ursa major a thing to 
be envied.* 



* One of Peter Pindar's (Dr. Woleot) most amusing jeux d'esprit is his 
congratulatory epistle to Boswell on this tour, of which we subjoin a few 
lines. 

" Boswell, Bozzy, Bruce, whate'er thy name, 
Thou mighty shark for anecdote and fame ; 
Thou jackal, leading lion Johnson forth, 
To eat M'Pherson 'midst his native north; 
To frighten grave professors with his roar, 
And shake the Hebrides from shore to shore, 



Bless'd be thy labors, most adventurous Bozzy, 

Bold rival of Sir John and Dame Piozzi; 

Heavens ! with what laurels shall thy head be crown'd \ 

A grove, a forest, shall thy ears surround ! 

Yes ! whilst the Rambler shall a comet blaze, 

And gild a world of darkness with his rays, 

Thee, too, that world with wonderment shall hail, 

A lively, bouncing cracker at his tail ! " 



CHAPTER XLH 



PROJECT OF A DICTIONARY OF ARTS AND SCIENCES. — DISAPPOINTMENT. 
— NEGLIGENT AUTHORSHIP. — APPLICATION FOR A PENSION. — BEATTIl'- 
ESSAY ON TRUTH. — PUBLIC ADULATION. — A HIGH-MINDED REBUKE. 



pSpffiHE works which Goldsmith had still in hand 
■<fe||J* being already paid for, and the money gone, 
jF\gj%| some new scheme must be devised to provide 
for the past and the future, — for impending debts which 
threatened to crush him, and expenses which were con- 
tinually increasing. He now projected a work of greater 
compass than any he had yet undertaken : a Dictionary 
of Arts and Sciences on a comprehensive scale, which 
was to occupy a number of volumes. For this he re- 
ceived promise of assistance from several powerful hands. 
Johnson was to contribute an article on ethics ; Burke, 
an abstract of his "Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful," 
an essay on the Berkley an system of philosophy, and 
others on political science ; Sir Joshua Reynolds, an 
essay on painting ; and Garrick, while he undertook on 
his own part to furnish an essay on acting, engaged Dr. 
Burney to contribute an article on music. Here was 
a great array of talent positively engaged, while other 



DISAPPOINTMENT, 409 

writers of eminence were to be sought for the vari- 
ous departments of science. Goldsmith was to edit the 
whole. An undertaking of this kind, while it did not in- 
cessantly task and exhaust his inventive powers by orig- 
inal composition, would give agreeable and profitable 
exercise to his taste and judgment in selecting, compil- 
ing, and arranging, and he calculated to diffuse over the 
whole the acknowledged graces of his style. 

He drew up a prospectus of the plan, which is said by 
Bishop Percy, who saw it, to have been written with un- 
common ability, and to have had that perspicuity and 
elegance for which his writings are remarkable. This 
paper, unfortunately, is no longer in existence. 

Goldsmith's expectations, always sanguine respecting 
any new plan, were raised to an extraordinary height by 
the present project ; and well they might be, when we 
consider the powerful coadjutors already pledged. They 
were doomed, however, to complete disappointment. 
Davies, the bibliopole of Eussell Street, lets us into the 
secret of this failure. " The booksellers," said he, " not- 
withstanding they had a very good opinion of his abili- 
ties, yet were startled at the bulk, importance, and ex- 
pense 01 so great an undertaking, the fate of which was 
to depend upon the industry of a man with whose in- 
dolence of temper and method of procrastination they 
had long been acquainted." 

Goldsmith certainly gave reason for some such distrust 
by the heedlessness with which he conducted his literary 



410 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

undertakings. Those unfinished, but paid for, would be 
suspended to make way for some job that was to provide 
for present necessities. Those thus hastily taken up 
would be as hastily executed, and the whole, however 
pressing, would be shoved aside and left " at loose ends," 
on some sudden call to social enjoyment or recreation. 

Cradock tells us that on one occasion, when Goldsmith 
was hard at work on his "Natural History," he sent to 
Dr. Percy and himself, entreating them to finish some 
pages of his work which lay upon his table, and for 
which the press was urgent, he being detained by other 
engagements at Windsor. They met by appointment at 
his chambers in the Temple, where they found every- 
thing in disorder, and costly books lying scattered about 
on the tables and on the floor; many of the books on 
natural history which he had recently consulted lay open 
among uncorrected proof-sheets. The subject in hand, 
and from which he had suddenly broken off, related to 
birds. " Do you know anything about birds ? " asked 
Dr. Percy, smiling. "Not an atom," replied Cradock; 
"do you?" "Not I! I scarcely know a goose from a 
swan ; however, let us try what we can do." They set 
to work and completed their friendly task. Goldsmith, 
however, when he came to revise it, made such altera- 
tions that they could neither of them recognize their own 
share. The engagement at Windsor, which had thus 
caused Goldsmith to break off suddenly from his multi- 
farious engagements, was a party of pleasure with some 



— 



NEGLIGENT AUTHORSHIP. 411 

literal'} ladies. Another anecdote was current, illustra- 
tive of the carelessness with which he executed works 
requiring accuracy and research. On the 22d of June 
he had received payment in advance for a "Grecian His- 
tory" in two volumes, though only one was finished. As 
lie was pushing on doggedly at the second volume, Gib- 
bon, the historian, called in. "You are the man of all 
others I wish to see," cried the poet, glad to be saved 
the trouble of reference to his books. "What was the 
name of that Indian king who gave Alexander the Great 
so much trouble ? " " Montezuma," replied Gibbon, 
sportively. The heedless author was about committing 
the name to paper without reflection, when Gibbon pre- 
tended to recollect himself, and gave the true name, 
Porus. 

This story, very probably, was a sportive exaggeration ; 
but it was a multiplicity of anecdotes like this and the 
preceding one, some true and some false, which had im- 
paired the confidence of booksellers in Goldsmith as a 
man to be relied on for a task requiring wide and accu- 
rate research, and close and long-continued application. 
The project of the "Universal Dictionary," therefore, 
met with no encouragement, and fell through. 

The failure of this scheme, on which he had built 
such spacious hopes, sank deep into Goldsmith's heart. 
He was still further grieved and mortified by the failure 
of an effort made by some of his friends to obtain for 
him a pension from government. There had been a talk 



412 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

of the disposition of the ministry to extend the bounty 
of the crown to distinguished literary men in pecuniary 
difficulty, without regard to their political creed : when 
the merits and claims of Goldsmith, however, were laid 
before them, they met no favor. The sin of sturdy inde- 
pendence lay at his door. He had refused to become a 
ministerial hack when offered a carte blanche by Parson 
Scott, the cabinet emissary. The wondering parson had 
left him in poverty and "his garret" and there the min- 
istry were disposed to suffer him to remain. 

In the meantime Dr. Beattie comes out with his " Es- 
say on Truth," and all the orthodox world are thrown 
into a paroxysm of contagious ecstasy. He is cried up 
as the great champion of Christianity against the attacks 
of modern philosophers and infidels ; he is feted and flat- 
tered in every way. He receives at Oxford the honorary 
degree of Doctor of Civil Law, at the same time with Sir 
Joshua Reynolds. The King sends for him, praises his 
Essay, and gives him a pension of two hundred pounds. 

Goldsmith feels more acutely the denial of a pension 
to himself when one has thus been given unsolicited to a 
man he might without vanity consider so much his in- 
ferior. He was not one to conceal his feelings. " Here's 
such a stir," said he one day at Thrale's table, " about a 
fellow that has written one book, and I have written so 
many ! " 

" Ah, Doctor ! " exclaimed Johnson, in one of his caus- 
tic moods, " there go two-and-forty sixpences, you know, 



BEATTIE 'S ESSAY ON TRUTH. 413 

to one guinea." This is one of the cuts at poor Gold- 
smith in which Johnson went contrary to head and heart 
in his love for saying what is called a " good thing." No 
one knew better than himself the comparative superiority 
of the writings of Goldsmith; but the jingle of the six- 
pences and the guinea was not to be resisted. 

"Everybody," exclaimed Mrs. Thrale, "loves Dr. Beat- 
tie, but Goldsmith, who says he cannot bear the sight of 
so much applause as they all bestow upon him. Did he 
not tell us so himself, no one would believe he was so 
exceedingly ill-natured." 

He told them so himself because he was too open and 
unreserved to disguise his feelings, and because he really 
considered the praise lavished on Beattie extravagant, as 
in fact it was. It was all, of course, set down to sheer 
envy and uncharitableness. To add to his annoyance, he 
found his friend, Sir Joshua Reynolds, joining in the uni- 
versal adulation. He had painted a full-length portrait 
of Beattie decked in the doctor's robes in which he had 
figured at Oxford, with the " Essay on Truth " under his 
arm and the angel of truth at his side, while Yoltaire 
figured as one of the demons of infidelity, sophistry, and 
falsehood, driven into utter darkness. 

Goldsmith had known Yoltaire in early life ; he had 
been his admirer and his biographer ; he grieved to find 
him receiving such an insult from the classic pencil of 
his friend. "It is unworthy of you," said he to Sir 
Joshua, " to debase so high a genius as Yoltaire before 



414 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

so mean a writer as Beattie. Beattie and his book will 
be forgotten in ten years, while Voltaire's fame will last 
forever. Take care it does not perpetuate this picture to 
the shame of such a man as you." This noble and high- 
minded rebuke is the only instance on record of any re- 
proachful words between the poet and the painter; and 
we are happy to find that it did not destroy the harmony 
of their intercourse. 




CHAPTEK XLin. 

"OIL WITHOUT HOPE. — THE POET IN THE GREEN-ROOM; IN THE FLOWER 

garden; at vauxhall; dissipation without gayety. — CRADOCK 1>: 

TOWN ; FRIENDLY SYMPATHY j A PARTING SCENE ; AN INVITATION TO 
PLEASURE. 

jlHWAKTED in the plans and disappointed in 
the hopes which had recently cheered and ani- 
mated him, Goldsmith found the labor at his 
half-finished tasks doubly irksome from the conscious- 
ness that the completion of them could not relieve him 
from his pecuniary embarrassments. His impaired 
health, also, rendered him less capable than formerly 
of sedentary application, and continual perplexities dis- 
turbed the flow of thought necessary for original compo- 
sition. He lost his usual gayety and good-humor, and 
became, at times, peevish and irritable. Too proud of 
spirit to seek sympathy or relief from his friends, for the 
pecuniary difficulties he had brought upon himself by 
his errors and extravagance, and unwilling, perhaps, to 
make known their amount, he buried his cares and anx- 
ieties in his own bosom, and endeavored in company to 
keep up his usual air of gayety and unconcern. This 
gave his conduct an appearance of fitfulness and caprice, 

415 



416 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

varying suddenly from moodiness to mirth, and from 
silent gravity to shallow laughter ; causing surprise and 
ridicule in those who were not aware of the sickness of 
heart which lay beneath. 

His poetical reputation, too, was sometimes a disad- 
vantage to him ; it drew upon him a notoriety which he 
was not always in the mood or the vein to act up to. 
" Good heavens, Mr. Foote," exclaimed an actress at the 
Haymarket Theatre, " what a humdrum kind of man Dr. 
Goldsmith appears in our green-room compared with the 
figure he makes in his poetry!" "The reason of that, 
madam," replied Foote, "is because the Muses are better 
comjDany than the players." 

Beauclerc's letters to his friend, Lord Charlemont, who 
was absent in Ireland, give us now and then an indica- 
tion of the whereabout of the poet during the present 
year. " I have been but once to the club since you left 
England," writes he ; " we were entertained, as usual, 
with Goldsmith's absurdity." With ' Beauclerc every- 
thing was absurd that was not polished and pointed. In 
another letter he threatens, unless Lord Charlemont re- 
turns to England, to bring over the whole club, and let 
them loose upon him to drive him home by their pecu- 
liar habits of annoyance ; — Johnson shall spoil his books ; 
Goldsmith shall pull hisjloivers; and last, and most intol- 
erable of all, Boswell shall— talk to him. It would ap- 
pear that the poet, who had a passion for flowers, was 
apt to pass much of his time in the garden when on a 



THE POET AT VAUXHALL. 417 

visit to a country-seat, much to the detriment of the 
flower-beds and the despair of the gardener. 

The summer wore heavily away with Goldsmith. He 
had not his usual solace of a country retreat ; his health 
was impaired and his spirits depressed. Sir Joshua 
Reynolds, who perceived the state of his mind, kindly 
gave him much of his company. In the course of their 
interchange of thought, Goldsmith suggested to him the 
story of Ugolino, as a subject for his pencil. The paint- 
ing founded on it remains a memento of their friendship. 

On the 4th of August we find them together at Vaux- 
hall, at that time a place in high vogue, and which had 
once been to Goldsmith a scene of Oriental splendor and 
delight. We have, in fact, in the " Citizen of the World," 
a picture of it as it had struck him in former years and 
in his happier moods. "Upon entering the gardens," 
says the Chinese philosopher, " I found every sense oc- 
cupied with more than expected pleasure : the lights 
everywhere glimmering through the scarcely moving 
trees ; the full-bodied concert bursting on the stillness 
of the night ; the natural concert of the birds in the more 
retired part of the grove, vying with that which was 
formed by art ; the company gayly dressed, looking satis- 
faction, and the tables spread with various delicacies, — 
all conspired to fill my imagination with the visionary 
happiness of the Arabian law-giver, and lifted me into an 
ecstasy of admiration."* 

* Citizen of the World. Let, LXXI. 
27 



418 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

Every tiling now, however, is seen with different eyes; 
with him it is dissipation without j)leasure ; and lie finds 
it impossible any longer, by mingling in the gay and 
giddy throng of apparently prosperous and happy beings, 
to escape from the carking care which is clinging to his 
heart. 

His kind friend, Cradock, came up to town towards 
autumn, when all the fashionable world was in the coun- 
try, to give his wife the benefit of a skilful dentist. He 
took lodgings in Norfolk Street, to be in Goldsmith's 
neighborhood, and passed most of his mornings with 
him. " I found him," he says, " much altered and at 
times very low. He wished me to look over and revise 
some of his works ; but, with a select friend or two, I 
was more pressing that he should publish by subscrip- 
tion his two celebrated poems of the ' Traveller ' and the 
'Deserted Village,' with notes." The idea of Cradock 
was, that the subscription would enable wealthy persons, 
favorable to Goldsmith, to contribute to his pecuniary 
relief without wounding his pride. " Goldsmith," said 
he, " readily gave up to me his private copies, and said, 
1 Pray do what you please with them.' But whilst he sat 
near me, he rather submitted to than encouraged my 
zealous proceedings. 

" I one morning called upon him, however, and found 
him infinitely better than I had expected ; and, in a kind 
of exulting style, he exclaimed, 'Here are some of the 
best of my prose writings ; i" have been hard at work since 



A PARTING SCENE. 419 

midnight^ and I desire you to examine them.' ' These,' 
said I, 'are excellent indeed.' 'They are,' replied he, 
' intended as an introduction to a body of arts and sci- 
ences.' " 

Poor Goldsmith was, in fact, gathering together the 
fragments of his shipwreck; the notes and essays, and 
memoranda collected for his dictionary, and proposed to 
found on them a work in two volumes, to be entitled "A 
Survey of Experimental Philosophy." 

The plan of the subscription came to nothing, and the 
projected survey never was executed. The head might 
yet devise, but the heart was failing him ; his talent at 
hoping, which gave him buoyancy to carry out his enter- 
prises, was almost at an end. 

Cradock's farewell-scene with him is told in a simple 
but touching manner. 

"The day before I was to set out for Leicestershire, I 
insisted upon his dining with us. He replied, 'I will, 
but on one condition, that you will not ask me to eat 
anything.' 'Nay,' said I, 'this answer is absolutely un- 
kind, for I had hoped, as we are supplied from the Crown 
and Anchor, that you would have named something you 
might have relished.' 'Well,' was the reply, 'if you will 
but explain it to Mrs. Cradock, I will certainly wait upon 
you.' 

" The Doctor found, as usual, at my apartments, news- 
papers and pamphlets, and with a pen and ink he amused 
himself as well as he could. I had ordered from the 



420 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

tavern some fish, a roasted joint of lamb, and a tart ; and 
the Doctor either sat down or walked about just as he 
pleased. After dinner he took some wine with biscuits ; 
but I was obliged soon to leave him for a while, as I had 
matters to settle prior to my next day's journey. On my 
return, coffee was ready, and the Doctor appeared more 
cheerful (for Mrs. Cradock was always rather a favorite 
with him), and in the evening he endeavored to talk and 
remark as usual, but all was force. He stayed till mid- 
night, and I insisted on seeing him safe home, and we 
most cordially shook hands at the Temple-gate." Cra- 
dock little thought that this was to be their final part- 
ing. He looked back to it with mournful recollections in 
after -years, and lamented that he had not remained 
longer in town, at every inconvenience, to solace the poor 
broken-spirited poet. 

The latter continued in town all the autumn. At the 
opening of the Opera-House, on the 20th of November, 
Mrs. Yates, an actress whom he held in great esteem, 
delivered a poetical exordium of his composition. Beau- 
clerc, in a letter to Lord Charlemont, pronounced it very 
good, and predicted that it would soon be in all the pa- 
pers. It does not appear, however, to have been ever 
published. In his fitful state of mind Goldsmith may 
have taken no care about it, and thus it has been lost to 
the world, although it was received with great applause 
by a crowded and brilliant audience. 

A gleam of sunshine breaks through the gloom that 



INVITATION TO BARTON. 421 

was gathering over the poet. Towards the end of the 
year he receives another Christmas invitation to Barton. 
A country Christmas ! — with all the cordiality of the fire- 
side circle, and the joyous revelry of the oaken hall, — 
what a contrast to the loneliness of a bachelor's cham- 
bers in the Temple ! It is not to be resisted. But how 
is poor Goldsmith to raise the ways and means? His 
purse is empty ; his booksellers are already in advance 
to him. As a last resource, he applies to Garrick. 
Their mutual intimacy at Barton may have suggested 
him as an alternative. The old loan of forty pounds has 
never been paid ; and Newbery's note, pledged as a secu- 
rity, has never been taken up. An additional loan of 
sixty pounds is now asked for, thus increasing the loan 
to one hundred ; to insure the payment, he now offers,, 
besides Newbery's note, the transfer of the comedy of 
the " Good-natured Man " to Drury Lane, with such 
alterations as Garrick may suggest. Garrick, in reply, 
evades the offer of the altered comedy, alludes signifi- 
cantly to a new one which Goldsmith had talked of writ- 
ing for him, and offers to furnish the money required on 
his own acceptance. 

The reply of Goldsmith bespeaks a heart brimful of 
gratitude and overflowing with fond anticipations of 
Barton and the smiles of its fair residents. "My dear 
friend," writes he, "I thank you. I wish I could do 
something to serve you. I shall have a comedy for you 
in a season, or two at farthest, that I believe will be 



422 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

worth your acceptance, for I fancy I will make it a fine 

thing. You shall have the refusal I will draw 

upon you one month after date for sixty pounds, and 
your acceptance will be ready money, part of ivhich I 
ivant to go down to Barton with. May God preserve my 
honest little man, for he has my heart. Ever, 

"Oliver Goldsmith." 

And having thus scrambled together a little pocket- 
money, by hard contrivance, poor Goldsmith turns his 
back upon care and trouble, and Temple quarters, to for- 
get for a time his desolate bachelorhood in the family 
circle and a Christmas fireside at Barton. 



CHAPTEE XLIV. 



RETURN TO DRUDGERY; FORCED GAYETY ; RETREAT TO THE COUNTRY ; 
THE POEM OF RETALIATION. — PORTRAIT OF GARRICK ; OF GOLDSMITH; 
OF REYNOLDS. — ILLNESS OF THE POET ; HIS DEATH J GRIEF OF HIS 
FRIENDS. — A LAST WORD RESPECTING THE JESSAMY BRIDE. 



HE Barton festivities are over ; Christmas, with 
all its home -felt revelry of the heart, has 
passed like a dream ; the Jessamy Bride has 
beamed her last smile upon the poor poet, and the early 
part of 1774 finds him in his now dreary bachelor abode 
in the Temple, toiling fitfully and hopelessly at a multi- 
plicity of tasks. His '-Animated Nature," so long de- 
layed, so often interrupted, is at length announced foi 
publication, though it has yet to receive a few finishing 
touches. He is preparing a third " History of England," 
to be compressed and condensed in one volume, for the 
use of schools. He is revising his " Inquiry into Polite 
Learning," for which he receives the pittance of five 
guineas, much needed in his present scantiness of purse ; 
he is arranging his " Survey of Experimental Philoso- 
phy," and he is translating the " Comic Romance " of 
Scarron. Such is a part of the various labors of a drudg- 

423 



424 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

ing, depressing kind, by which his head is made weary 
and his heart faint. "If there is a mental drudgery," 
says Sir Walter Scott, " which lowers the spirits and 
lacerates the nerves, like the toil of a slave, it is that 
which is exacted by literary composition, when the heart 
is not in unison with the work upon which the head is 
employed. Add to the unhappy author's task sickness, 
sorrow, or the pressure of unfavorable circumstances, and 
the labor of the bondsman becomes light in comparison." 
Goldsmith again makes an effort to rally his spirits by 
going into gay society. " Our Club," writes Beauclerc 
to Charlemont, on the 12th of February, " has dwindled 
away to nothing. Sir Joshua and Goldsmith have got 
into such a round of pleasures that they have no time." 
This shows how little Beauclerc was the companion of 
the poet's mind, or could judge of him below the surface. 
Reynolds, the kind participator in joyless dissipation, 
could have told a different story of his companion's 
heart-sick gayety. 

In this forced mood Goldsmith gave entertainments in 
his chambers in the Temple; the last of which was a 
dinner to Johnson, Reynolds, and others of his intimates, 
who partook with sorrow and reluctance of his impru- 
dent hospitality. The first course vexed them by its 
needless profusion. When a second, equally extravagant, 
was served up, Johnson and Beynolds declined to par- 
take of it ; the rest of the company, understanding their 
motives, followed their example, and the dishes went 



RETREAT TO TEE COUNTRY. 425 

trom the table untasted. Goldsmith felt sensibly this 
silent and well-intended rebuke. 

The gay e ties of society, however, cannot medicine for 
any length of time a mind diseased. Wearied by the 
distractions and harassed by the expenses of a town-life, 
which he had not the discretion to regulate, Goldsmith 
took the resolution, too tardily adopted, of retiring to 
the serene quiet, and cheap and healthful pleasures of 
the country, and of passing only two months of the year 
in London. He accordingly made arrangements to sell 
his right in the Temple chambers, and in the month of 
March retired to his country quarters at Hyde, there to 
devote himself to toil. At this dispirited juncture, when 
inspiration seemed to be at an end, and the poetic fire 
extinguished, a spark fell on his combustible imagination 
and set it in a blaze. 

He belonged to a temporary association of men of 
talent, some of them members of the Literary Club, who 
dined together occasionally at the Sc. James's Coffee- 
House. At these dinners, as usual, he was one of the 
last to arrive. On one occasion, when he was more dila- 
tory than usual, a whim seized the company to lvrite epi- 
taphs on him, as "The late Dr. Goldsmith," and several 
^ere thrown off in a playful vein, hitting off his peculiar- 
ities. The only one extant was written by Garrick, and 
has been preserved, very probably, by its pungency : — 

"Here lies poet Goldsmith, for shortness called Noll, 
Who wrote like an angel, but talked like poor poll." 



426 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

Goldsmith did not relish the sarcasm, especially ag 
coming from such a quarter. He was not very ready at 
repartee; but he took his time, and in the interval of 
his various tasks concocted a series of epigrammatic 
sketches, under the title of "Retaliation," in which the 
characters of his distinguished intimates were admirably 
hit off, with a mixture of generous praise and good- 
humored raillery. In fact the poem, for its graphic 
truth, its nice discrimination, its terse good sense, and 
its shrewd knowledge of the world, must have electrified 
the club almost as much as the first appearance of " The 
Traveller," and let them still deeper into the character 
and talents of the man they had been accustomed to con- 
sider as their butt. "Retaliation," in a word, closed his 
accounts with the club, and balanced all his previous de- 
ficiencies. 

The portrait of David Garrick is one of the most elab- 
orate in the poem. When the poet came to touch it off, 
he had some lurking piques to gratify, which the recent 
attack had revived. He may have forgotten David's 
cavalier treatment of him, in the early days of his com- 
parative obscurity ; he may have forgiven his refusal of 
his plays ; but Garrick had been capricious in his con- 
duct in the times of their recent intercourse : sometimes 
treating him with gross familiarity, at other times affect- 
ing dignity and reserve, and assuming airs of superiority ; 
frequently he had been facetious and witty in company 
at his expense, and lastly he had been guilty of the coup- 



PORTBAIT OF GARRICK. 427 

let just quoted. Goldsmith, therefore, touched off the 
lights and shadows of his character with a free hand, and 
at the same time gave a side-hit at his old rival, Kelly, 
and his critical persecutor, Kenrick, in making them 
sycophantic satellites of the actor. Goldsmith, however, 
was void of gall even in his revenge, and his very satire 
was more humorous than caustic : — 

'* Here lies David Garrick, describe him who can, 
An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man ; 
As an actor, confess'd without rival to shine ; 
As a wit, if not first, in the very first line : 
Yet, with talents like these, and an excellent heart, 
The man had his failings, a dupe to his art. 
Like an ill-judging beauty, his colors he spread, 
And beplaster'd with rouge his own natural red. 
On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting ; 
'Twas only that when he was off he was acting. 
With no reason on earth to go out of his way, 
He turn'd and he varied full ten times a day : 
Though secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly sick 
If they were not his own by finessing and trick : 
He cast off his friends as a huntsman his pack, 
For he knew, when he pleased, he could whistle them back. 
Of praise a mere glutton, he swallow'd what came, 
And the puff of a dunce he mistook it for fame ; 
Till his relish, grown callous almost to disease, 
Who pepper'd the highest was surest to please. 
But let us be candid, and speak out our mind, 
If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind. 
Ye Kenricks, ye Kellys, and Woodfalls so grave, 
What a commerce was yours, while you got and you gave ! 



428 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

How did Grub Street reecho the shouts that you raised 
While he was be-Rosciused and you were be-praised 1 
But peace to his spirit, wherever it flies, 
To act as an angel and mix with the skies : 
Those poets who owe their best fame to his skill, 
Shall still be his flatterers, go where he will ; 
Old Shakspeare receive him with praise and with love, 
And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above." 

This portion of "Retaliation" soon brought a retort 
from Garrick, which we insert, as giving something of a 
likeness of Goldsmith, though in broad caricature : — 

*' Here, Hermes, says Jove, who with nectar was mellow, 
Go fetch me some clay — I will make an odd fellow : 
Right and wrong shall be jumbled, much gold and some dross, 
Without cause be he pleased, without cause be he cross ; 
Be sure, as I work, to throw in contradictions, 
A great love of truth, yet a mind turn'd to fictions ; 
Now mix these ingredients, which, warm'd in the baking, 
Turn'd to learning and gaming, religion and raking. 
With the love of a wench let his writings be chaste ; 
Tip his tongue with strange matter, his lips with fine taste : 
That the rake and the poet o'er all may prevail 
Set fire to the head and set fire to the tail ; 
For the joy of each sex on the world I'll bestow it, 
This scholar, rake, Christian, dupe, gamester, and poet. 
Though a mixture so odd, he shall merit great fame, 
And among brother mortals be Goldsmith his name ; 
When on earth this strange meteor no more shall appear, 
You, Hermes, shall fetch him. to make as sporl here." 

The charge of raking, so repeatedly advanced in the 



GOLDSMITH XO RAKE. 429 

foregoing lines, must be considered a sportive one, 
founded, perhaps, on an incident or two within Gar- 
rick's knowledge, but not borne out by the course of 
Goldsmith's life. He seems to have had a tender sen- 
timent for the sex, but perfectly free from libertinism. 
Neither was he an habitual gamester. The strictest 
scrutiny has detected no settled vice of the kind. He 
was fond of a game of cards, but an unskilful and care- 
less player. Cards in those days were universally intro- 
duced into society. High play was, in fact, a fashionable 
amusement, as at one time was deep drinking ; and a 
man might occasionally lose large sums, and be beguiled 
into deep potations, without incurring the character of a 
gamester or a drunkard. Poor Goldsmith, on his advent 
into high society, assumed fine notions with fine clothes ; 
he was thrown occasionally among high players, men of 
fortune who could sport their cool hundred as carelessly 
as his early comrades at Bally mahon could their half- 
crowns. Being at all times magnificent in money-mat- 
ters, he may have played with them in their own way, 
without considering that what was sport to them to him 
was ruin. Indeed, part of his financial embarrassments 
may have arisen from losses of the kind, incurred inad- 
vertently, not in the indulgence of a habit. "I do not 
believe Goldsmith to have deserved the name of game- 
ster," said one of his contemporaries; "he likod cards 
very well, as other people do> and lost and won occa- 
sionally, but as far as I saw or heard, and I had manv 



430 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

opportunities of hearing, never any considerable sum, 
If lie gamed with any one, it was probably with Beau- 
clerc, but I do not know that such was the case." 

"Retaliation," as we have already observed, was thrown 
off in parts, at intervals, and was never completed. Some 
3haracters, originally intended to be introduced, remained 
unattempted; others were but jmrtially sketched — such 
as the one of Reynolds, the friend of his heart, and which 
he commenced with a felicity which makes us regret thai 
it should remain unfinished. 

" Here Reynolds is laid, and to tell you my mind, 
He has not left a wiser or better behind. 
His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand ; 
His manners were gentle, complying, and bland ; 
Still born to improve us in every part, 
His pencil our faces, his manners our heart. 
To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering, 
When they judged without skill he was still hard of hearing : 
When they talked of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff, 
He shifted his trumpet and only took snuff. 
By flattery unspoiled " 

The friendly portrait stood unfinished on the easel; 
the hand of the artist had failed ! An access of a local 
complaint, under which he had suffered for some time 
past, added to a general prostration of health, brought 
Goldsmith back to town before he had well settled him- 
self in the country. The local complaint subsided, but 
was followed by a low nervous fever. He was not aware 



ILLNESS. 431 

of his critical situation, and intended to be at the club on 
the 25th of March, on which occasion Charles Fox, Sir 
Charles Bunbury (one of the Horneck connection), and 
two other new members were to be present. In the after- 
noon, however, lie felt so unwell as to take to his bed, and 
his symptoms soon acquired sufficient force to keep him 
there. His malady fluctuated for seyeral days, and hopes 
were entertained of his recovery, but they proved falla- 
cious. He had skilful medical aid and faithful nursing, 
but he would not follow the advice of his physicians, and 
persisted in the use of James's powders, which he had 
once found beneficial, but which were now injurious to 
him. His appetite was gone, his strength failed him, but 
his mind remained clear, and was perhaps too active for 
his frame. Anxieties and disappointments which had 
previously sapped his constitution, doubtless aggravated 
his present complaint and rendered him sleepless. In 
reply to an inquiry of his physician, he acknowledged 
that his mind was ill at ease. This was his last reply : 
he was too weak to talk, and in general took no notice of 
what was said to him. He sank at last into a deep sleep, 
and it was hoped a favorable crisis had arrived. He 
awoke, however, in strong convulsions, which continued 
without intermission until he expired, on the fourth of 
April, at five o'clock in the morning ; being in the forty- 
sixth year of his age. 

His death was a shock to the literary world, and a 
deep affliction to a wide circle of intimates and friends i 



432 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

for, with all his foibles and peculiarities, he was fully a« 
much beloved as he was admired. Burke, on hearing 
the news, burst into tears. Sir Joshua Beynolds threw 
by his pencil for the day, and grieved more than he had 
done in times of great family distress. " I was abroad at 
the time of his death," writes Dr. M'Donnell, the youth 
whom when in distress he had employed as an amanu- 
ensis, "and I wept bitterly when the intelligence first 
reached me. A blank came over my heart as if I had 
lost one of my nearest relatives, and was followed for 
some days by a feeling of despondency. " Johnson felt 
the blow deeply and gloomily. In writing some time 
after wards to Bos well, he observed, " Of poor Dr. Gold- 
smith there is little to be told more than the papers have 
made public. He died of a fever, made, I am afraid, more 
violent by uneasiness of mind. His debts began to be 
heavy, and all his resources were exhausted. Sir Joshua 
is of opinion that he owed no less than two thousand 
pounds. Was ever poet so trusted before ? " 

Among his debts were seventy-nine pounds due to his 
tailor, Mr. William Filby, from whom he had received i 
new suit but a few days before his death. " My father," 
said the younger Filby, " though a loser to that amount, 
attributed no blame to Goldsmith ; he had been a gocd 
customer, and, had he lived, would have paid every far- 
thing." Others of his tradespeople evinced the same 
confidence in his integrity, notwithstanding his heedless- 
ness. Two sister milliners in Temple Lane, who had 



DEATH. 433 

been accustomed to deal with him, were concerned when 
told, some time before his death, of his pecuniary embar- 
rassments. " Oh, sir," said they to Mr. Cradock, " sooner 
persuade him to let us work for him gratis than apply to 
any other ; we are sure he will pay us when he can." 

On the stairs of his apartment there was the lamenta- 
tion of the old and infirm, and the sobbing of women; 
poor objects of his charity, to whom he had never turned 
a deaf ear, even when struggling himself with poverty. 

But there was one mourner whose enthusiasm for his 
memory, could it have been foreseen, might have soothed 
the bitterness of death. 'After the coffin had been screwed 
down, a lock of his hair was requested for a lady, a par- 
ticular friend, who wished to preserve it as a remem- 
brance. It was the beautiful Mary Horneck — the Jes- 
samy Bride. The coffin was opened again, and a lock 
of hair cut off; which she treasured to her dying day. 
Poor Goldsmith ! could he have foreseen that such a 
memorial of him was to be thus cherished ! 

One word more concerning this lady, to whom we have 
so often ventured to advert. She survived almost to the 
present day. Hazlitt met her at Northcote's painting- 
room, about twenty years since, as Mrs. Gwyn, the widow 
of a General Gwyn of the army. She was at that time 
upwards of seventy years of age. Still, he said, she was 
beautiful, beautiful even in years. After she was gone, 
Hazlitt remarked how handsome she still was. "I do 
not know," said Northcote, " why she is so kind as to 

28 



484 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

come to see me, except that I am the last link in the 
chain that connects her with all those she most esteemed 
when young — Johnson, Reynolds, Goldsmith — and re- 
mind her of the most delightful period of her life." 
" Not only so," observed Hazlitt, " but you remember 
what she was at twenty ; and you thus bring back to her 
the triumphs of her youth — that pride of beauty, which 
must be the more fondly cherished as it has no external 
vouchers, and lives chiefly in the bosom of its once lovely 
possessor. In her, however, the Graces had triumphed 
over time ; she was one of Ninon de l'Enclos's people. 
of the last of the immortals. I could almost fancy the 
shade of Goldsmith in the room, looking round with 
complacency." 

The Jessamy Bride survived her sister upwards of 
forty years, and died in 1840, within a few days of com- 
pleting her eighty-eighth year. "She had gone through 
all the stages of life," says Northcote, "and had lent a 
grace to each." However gayly she may have sported 
with the half-concealed admiration of the poor awkward 
poet in the heyday of her youth and beauty, and however 
much it may have been made a subject of teasing by 
her youthful companions, she evidently prided herself in 
after-years upon having been an object of his affection- 
ate regard ; it certainly rendered her interesting through- 
out life in the eyes of his admirers, and has hung a poet- 
ical wreath above her grave. 




CHAPTEE XLV. 

THE FUNERAL. — THE MONUMENT. — THE EPITAPH. — CONCLUDING REMARKS. 

|X the warm feeling of the moment, while the 
remains of the poet were scarce cold, it was 
determined by his friends to honor them by a 
public funeral and a tomb in Westminster Abbey. His 
very pall-bearers were designated : Lord Shelburne, Lord 
Lowth, Sir Joshua Reynolds ; the Hon. Mr. Beauclerc, 
Mr. Burke, and David Garrick. This feeling cooled 
down, however, when it was discovered that he died in 
debt, and had not left wherewithal to' pay for such ex- 
pensive obsequies. Five days after his death, therefore, 
at five o'clock of Saturday evening, the 9th of April, he 
was privately interred in the burying - ground of the 
Temple Church ; a few persons attending as mourners, 
among whom we do not find specified any of his peculiar 
and distinguished friends. The chief mourner was Sir 
Joshua Reynolds's nephew, Palmer, afterwards Dean of 
Cashel. One person, however, from whom it was but lit- 
tle to be expected, attended the funeral and evinced real 
sorrow on the occasion. This was Hugh Kelly, once the 
dramatic rival of the deceased, and often, it is said, his 

435 



436 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

anonymous assailant in the newspapers. If he had really 
been guilty of this basest of literary offences, he was 
punished by the stings of remorse, for we are told that he 
shed bitter tears over the grave of the man he had in- 
jured. His tardy atonement only provoked the lash of 
some unknown satirist, as the following lines will show :— « 
" Hence Kelly, who years, without honor or shame. 
Had been sticking his bodkin in Olivers fame. 
Who thought, like the Tartar, by this to inherit 
His genius, his learning, simplicity, spirit; 
Now sets every feature to weep o'er his fate, 
And acts as a mourner to blubber in state." 

One base wretch deserves to be mentioned, the reptile 
Kenrick, who, after having repeatedly slandered Gold- 
smith, while living, had the audacity to insult his mem- 
ory when dead. The following distich is sufficient to 
show his malignancy, and to hold him up to execration: — 
1 ' By his own art, who justly died, 
A blund'ring, artless suicide : 
Share, earthworms, share, since now he's dead, 
His megrim, maggot-bitten head." 

This scurrilous epitaph produced a burst of public in- 
dignation, that awed for a time even the infamous Ken- 
rick into silence. On the other hand, the press teemed 
with tributes in verse and prose to the memory of the 
deceased ; all evincing the mingled feeling of admiration 
for the author and affection for the man. 

Not long after his death the Literary Club set on foot 
a subscription, and raised a fund to erect a monument to 



MOXUMEXT. 437 

his memory, in Westminster Abbey. It was executed by 
Xollekens, and consisted simply of a bust of the poet in 
profile, in high relief, in a medallion, and was placed in 
the area of a pointed arch, over the south door in Poet's 
Corner, between the monuments of Gay and the Duke of 
Argyle. Johnson furnished a Latin epitaph, which was 
read at the table of Sir Joshua Reynolds, where several 
members of the club and other friends of the deceased 
were present. Though considered by them a masterly 
composition, they thought the literary character of the 
poet not defined with sufficient exactness, and they pre- 
ferred that the epitaph should be in English rather than 
Latin, as " the memory of so eminent an English writer 
ought to be perpetuated in the language to which his 
works were likely to be so lasting an ornament." 

These objections were reduced to writing, to be re- 
spectfully submitted to Johnson, but such was the awe 
entertained of his frown, that every one shrank from put- 
ting his name first to the instrument ; whereupon their 
names were written about it in a circle, making what 
mutinous sailors call a Round Robin. Johnson received 
it half graciously, half grimly. "He was willing," he 
said, " to modify the sense of the epitaph in any manner 
the gentlemen pleased; but he never luould consent to dis- 
grace the watts of Westminster Abbey icith an English in- 
scription." Seeing the names of Dr. Warton and Ed- 
mund Burke among the signers, " he wondered," he said, 
"that Joe Warton, a scholar by profession, should be 



438 OLIVER GOLDSMITH, 

such a fool ; and should have thought that Mund Burke 
would have had more sense." The following is the epi- 
taph as it stands inscribed on a white marble tablet be- 
neath the bust : — 

"OLIVARII GOLDSMITH,* 

Poetae, Physici, Historici, 
Qui nullum fere scribendi genus 

Non tetigit, 
Nullum quod tetigit non ornavit : 
Sive risus essent movendi, 
Sive lacrymae, 
Affectuum potens at lenis dominator : 
Ingenio sublimis, vividus, versatilis, 
Oratione grandis, nitidus, venustus : 
Hoc monumento memoriam coluit 
Sodalium amor, 
Amicorum fides, 
Lectorura vene ratio. 
Natus in Hibernia Fornix Longfordiensis, 
In loco cui nomen Pallas, 
Nov. xxix. mdccxxxi. ; 
EblanaB Uteris institutus ; 

Obiit Londini, 
April iv. MDCCLXxrv."f 

* The following translation is from Croker's edition of BosvHlV 
" Johnson ": — 

" OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH— 

A Poet, Naturalist, and Historian, 

"Who left scarcely any style of writing 

Untouched, 

t Not correct. The true date of birth was 10th Nov. 1728, as given 
on page 22. 



EPITAPH. 439 

We shall not pretend to follow these anecdotes of the 
life of Goldsmith with any critical dissertation on his 
writings ; their merits have long since been fully dis- 
cussed, and their station in the scale of literary merit 
permanently established. They have outlasted genera- 
tions of works of higher power and wider scope, and will 
continue to outlast succeeding generations, for they have 
that magic charm of style by which works are embalmed 
to perpetuity. Neither shall we attempt a regular anal- 
ysis of the character of the poet, but will indulge in a 
few desultory remarks, in addition to those scattered 
throughout the preceding chapters. 

Never was the trite, because sage apophthegm, that 
"The child is father to the man," more fully verified 



And touched nothing that he did not adorn; 

Of all the passions, 

Whether smiles were to be moved 

Or tears, 

A powerful yet gentle master; 

In genius, sublime, vivid, versatile, 

In style, elevated, clear, elegant — 

The love of companions, 

The fidelity of friends, 

And the veneration of readers, 

Have by this monument honored the memory^ 

He was born in Ireland, 

At a place called Pallas, 

pn the parish] of Forney, [and county] of Longford, 

On the 29th Nov., 1731. 

Educated at [the University of] Dublin 

And died in London, 

4th April, 1774. 



440 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

than in the case of Goldsmith. He is shy, awkward, and 
blundering in childhood, yet full of sensibility ; he is 
a butt for the jeers and jokes of his companions, but apt 
to surprise and confound them by sudden and witty 
repartees ; he is dull and stupid at his tasks, yet an 
eager and intelligent devourer of the travelling tales and 
campaigning stories of his half military pedagogue ; he 
may be a dunce, but he is already a rhymer ; and his 
early scintillations of poetry awaken the expectations of 
his friends. He seems from infancy to have been com- 
pounded of two natures, one bright, the other blunder- 
ing ; or to have had fairy gifts laid in his cradle by the 
"good people" who haunted his birthplace, the old gob- 
lin mansion on the banks of the Inny. 

He carries with him the wayward elfin spirit, if we 
may so term it, throughout his career. His fairy gifts 
are of no avail at school, academy, or college : they unfit 
him for close study and practical science, and render him 
heedless of everything that does not address itself to 
his poetical imagination and genial and festive feelings ; 
they dispose him to break away from restraint, to stroll 
about hedges, green lanes, and haunted streams, to revel 
with jovial companions, or to rove the country like a 
gypsy in quest of odd adventures. 

As if confiding in these delusive gifts, he takes no heed 

of the present nor care for the future, lays no regular 

and solid foundation of knowledge, follows out no plan, 

dopts and discards those recommended by his friends, 



CONCLUDING REMARKS. 441 

at one time prepares for the ministry, next turns to the 
law, and then fixes upon medicine. He repairs to Edin- 
burgh, the great emporium of medical science, but the 
fairr gifts accompany him ; he idles and frolics away his 
time there, imbibing only such knowledge as is agree- 
"able to him ; makes an excursion to the poetical regions 
of the Highlands ; and having walked the hospitals for 
the customary time, sets off to ramble over the Conti- 
nent, in quest of novelty rather than knowledge. His 
whole tour is a poetical one. He fancies he is playing 
the philosopher while he is really playing the poet ; and 
though professedly he attends lectures and visits foreign 
universities, so deficient is he on his return, in the 
studies for which he set out, that he fails in an examina- 
tion as a surgeon's mate ; and while figuring as a doctor 
of medicine, is outvied on a point of practice by his 
apothecary. Baffled in every regular pursuit, after try- 
ing in vain some of the humbler callings of commonplace 
life, he is driven almost by chance to the exercise of his 
pen, and here the fairy gifts come to his assistance. For 
a long time, however, he seems unaware of the magic 
properties of that pen : he uses it only as a makeshift 
until he can find a legitimate means of support. He is 
not a learned man, and can write but meagrely and at 
second-hand on learned subjects; but he has a quick 
convertible talent that seizes lightly on the points of 
knowledge necessary to the illustration of a theme : his 
writings for a time are desultory, the fruits of what he 



442 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

has seen and felt, or what lie lias recently and hastily 
read ; but his gifted pen transmutes everything into gold, 
and his own genial nature reflects its sunshine through 
his pages. 

Still unaware of his powers he throws off his writings 
anonymously, to go with the writings of less favored' 
men; and it is a longtime, and after a bitter struggle 
with poverty and humiliation, before he acquires confi- 
dence in his literary talent as a means of support, and 
begins to dream of reputation. 

From this time his pen is a wand of power in his hand, 
and he has only to use it discreetly, to make it competent 
to all his wants. But discretion is not a part of Gold- 
smith's nature ; and it seems the property of these fairy 
gifts to be accompanied by moods and temperaments to 
render their effect precarious. The heedlessness of his 
early days; his disposition for social enjoyment; his 
habit of throwing the present on the neck of the future, 
still continue. His expenses forerun his means ; he in- 
curs debts on the faith of what his magic pen is to pro- 
duce, and then, under the pressure of his debts, sacrifices 
its productions for prices far below their value. It is a 
redeeming circumstance in his prodigality that it is lav- 
ished oftener upon others than upon himself: he gives 
without thought or stint, and is the continual dupe of Lis 
benevolence and his trustfulness in human nature. We 
may say of him as he says of one of his heroes, '-He 
could not stifle the natural impulse which he Lad to 



COXCLUDIXG REMARKS. 443 

do good, but frequently borrowed money to relieve the 
distressed; and when he knew not conveniently where 
to borrow, he has been observed to shed tears as he 
passed through the wretched suppliants who attended 
his gate." 

" His simplicity in trusting persons whom he had no 
previous reasons to place confidence in, seems to be one of 
those lights of his character which, while they impeach 
his understanding, do honor to his benevolence. The 
low and the timid are ever suspicious ; but a heart im- 
pressed with honorable sentiments, expects from others 
sympathetic sincerity."* 

His heedlessness in pecuniary matters, which had ren- 
dered his life a struggle with poverty even in the days 
of his obscurity, rendered the struggle still more intense 
when his fairy gifts had elevated him into the society of 
the wealthy and luxurious, and imposed on his simple 
and generous spirit fancied obligations to a more ample 
and bounteous display. 

" How comes it," says a recent and ingenious critic, 
" that in all the miry paths of life which he had trod, no 
speck ever sullied the robe of his modest and graceful 
Muse? How amidst all the love of inferior company, 
which never to the last forsook him, did he keep his 
genius so free from every touch of vulgarity ? " 

"We answer that it was owing to the innate purity and 

* Goldsmith's Life of Nash. 



444 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

goodness of his nature ; there was nothing in it that 
assimilated to vice and vulgarity. Though his circum- 
stances often compelled him to associate with the poor, 
they never could betray him into companionship with the 
depraved. His relish for humor and for the study of 
character, as we have before observed, brought him often 
into convivial company of a vulgar kind; but he dis- 
criminated between their vulgarity and their amusing 
qualities, or rather wrought from the whole those famil- 
iar pictures of life which form the staple of his most 
popular writings. 

Much, too, of this intact purity of heart may be 
ascribed to the lessons of his infancy under the paternal 
roof; to the gentle, benevolent, elevated, unworldly max- 
ims of his father, who " passing rich with forty pounds a 
year," infused a spirit into his child which riches could 
not deprave nor poverty degrade. Much of his boyhood, 
too, had been passed in the household of his uncle, the 
amiable and generous Contarine ; where he talked of 
literature with the good pastor, and practised music with 
his daughter, and delighted them both by his juvenile 
attempts at poetry. These early associations breathed 
a grace and refinement into his mind and tuned it up, af- 
ter the rough sports on the green, or the frolics at the 
tavern. These led him to turn from the roaring glees of 
the club, to listen to the harp of his cousin Jane ; and 
from the rustic triumph of " throwing sledge," to a stroll 
with his flute along the pastoral banks of the Innv. 



CONCLUDING REMARKS. £4Q 

The gentle spirit of his father walked with him 
through life, a pure and virtuous monitor ; and in all the 
vicissitudes of his career we find him ever more chas- 
tened in mind by the sweet and holy recollections of the 
home of his infancy. 

It has been questioned whether he really had any relig- 
ious feeling. Those who raise the question have never 
considered well his writings; his "Vicar of Wakefield," 
and his pictures of the Village Pastor, present religion 
under its most endearing forms, and with a feeling that 
could only flow from the deep convictions of the heart. 
When his fair travelling companions at Paris urged him 
to read the Church Service on a Sunday, he replied that 
"he was not worthy to do it." He had seen in early life 
the sacred offices performed by his father and his brother 
with a solemnity which had sanctified them in his mem- 
ory ; how could he presume to undertake such functions ? 
His religion has been called in question by Johnson and 
by Boswell: he certainly had not the gloomy hypochon- 
driacal piety of the one, nor the babbling mouth-piety of 
the other; but the spirit of Christian charity, breathed 
forth in his writings and illustrated in his conduct, give 
us reason to believe he had the indwelling religion of the 
soul. 

We have made sufficient comments in the preceding 
chapters on his conduct in elevated circles of literature 
and fashion. The fairy gifts which took him there were 
not accompanied by the gifts and graces necessary ta 



446 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

sustain him in that artificial sphere. He can neither 
play the learned sage with Johnson, nor the fine gentle- 
man with Beauclerc; though he has a mind replete with 
wisdom and natural shrewdness, and a spirit free from 
vulgarity. The blunders of a fertile but hurried intel- 
lect, and the awkward display of the student assuming 
the man of fashion, fix on him a character for absurdity 
and vanity which, like the charge of lunacy, it is hard to 
disprove, however weak the grounds of the charge and 
strong the facts in opposition to it. 

In truth, he is never truly in his place in these learned 
and fashionable circles, which talk and live for display. 
It is not the kind of society he craves. His heart yearns 
for domestic life ; it craves familiar, confiding inter- 
course, family firesides, the guileless and happy company 
of children; these bring out the heartiest and sweetest 
sympathies of his nature. 

"Had it been his fate," says the critic we have already 
quoted, "to meet a woman who could have loved him, 
despite his faults, and respected him despite his foibles, 
we cannot but think that his life and his genius would 
have been much more harmonious; his desultory am >o- 
tions would have been concentred, his craving self-love 
appeased, his pursuits mere settled, his character more 
solid. A nature like Goldsmith's, so affectionate, so con- 
fiding — so susceptible to simple, innocent enjoyments — 
so dependent on others for the sunshine of existence, 
does not flower if deprived of the atmosphere of home." 



CONCLUDING REMARKS. 447 

The cravings of his heart in this respect are evident, 
we think, throughout his career ; and if we have dwelt 
with more significancy than others upon his intercourse 
with the beautiful Horneck family, it is because we fan- 
cied we could detect, amid his playful attentions to one 
of its members, a lurking sentiment of tenderness, kept 
down by conscious poverty and a humiliating idea of per- 
sonal defects. A hopeless feeling of this kind — the last 
a man would communicate to his friends — might account 
for much of that fitfulness of conduct, and that gathering 
melancholy, remarked, but not comprehended by his as- 
sociates, during the last year or two of his life ; and may 
have been one of the troubles of the mind which ag- 
gravated his last illness, and only terminated with his 
death. 

We shall conclude these desultory remarks with a few 
which have been used by us on a former occasion. From 
the general tone of Goldsmith's biography, it is evident 
that his faults, at the worst, were but negative, while his 
merits were great and decided. He was no one's enemy 
but his own ; his errors, in the main, inflicted evil on 
none but himself, and were so blended with humorous 
and even affecting circumstances, as to disarm anger and 
conciliate kindness. "Where eminent talent is united to 
spotless virtue, we are awed and dazzled into admiration, 
but our admiration is apt to be cold and reverential; 
while there is something in the harmless infirmities of a 
good and great, but erring individual, that pleads touch- 



448 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

ingly to our nature ; and we turn more kindly towards 
the object of our idolatry, when we find that, like our- 
selves, he is mortal and is frail. The epithet so often 
heard, and in such kindly tones, of " poor Goldsmith," 
speaks volumes. Few, who consider the real compound 
of admirable and whimsical qualities which form his 
character, would wish to prune away his eccentric'- 
trim its grotesque luxuriance, and clip it down to the 
decent formalities of rigid virtue. " Let not his frail tits 
be remembered," said Johnson; "he was a very great 
man." But, for our part, we rather say, "Let them be 
remembered," since their tendency is to endear ; and we 
question whether he himself would not feel gratified in 
hearing his reader, after dwelling with admiration on the 
proofs of his greatness, close the volume with the kind- 
hearted phrase, so fondly and familiarly ejaculated, of 
"Poor Goldsmith." 



EXPLANATORY NOTES. 

The heavy-face numerals refer to pages, the ordinary figures to lines in the text. 

PREFACE. 

9, 3. Tu se' lo mio maestro, e'l mio autore, etc., "Thou art my master 
and my author; thou alone art he from whom I took the fair style 
that hath done me honor." — Dante's Inferno, Canto I, translated by 
Charles Eliot Norton. In a review which appeared at the time of the 
first publication of Irving's Oliver Goldsmith, these lines from Dante 
were construed as Irving's acknowledgment of Goldsmith as the 
model on which he formed his style. When the review was brought 
to Irving's attention, he denied that he had ever consciously imitatecl 
the style of Goldsmith, or of any other author. 

CHAPTER I. 

24, 24. Lissoy is . . . the original of his Aubu-n. For a description 
of Lissoy see below, Chapter XXVIII. 

25, 8. The "Man in Black" is a character in Goldsmith's Citizen of 
the World. 

28, 3. The wars of Queen Anne's time, the War of the Spanish Suc- 
cession. 

33, 21. Tradition asserts that Shakespeare, when a boy, was prose- 
cuted for stealing deer belonging to Sir Thomas Lucy. 

CHAPTER II. 

38, 8. Later biographers of Goldsmith give the date of his entrance 
into Trinity College as June 11, 1744. 

13. There were five classes of students: noblemen, sons of noble- 
men, fellow-commoners, pensioners, and sizers (usually spelled sizars). 
"The sizars paid nothing for food and tuition and very little for lodg- 
ing; but they had to perform -some menial services from which tney 

449 



450 EXPLANATORY NOTES. 

have long been relieved. They swept the court; they carried up the 
dinner to the fellows' table, and changed the plates and poured out 
the ale of the rulers of the Society." — Macaulay. 

42, 18. Edmund Burke (1729-1797), an Irish member of the English 
Parliament and a warm supporter of the American colonies during 
the troubles which led to the Revolutionary War. 

46, 26. O. S. = 01d Style. In 1752 the Julian calendar was replaced 
by Act of Parliament by the calendar inaugurated in Italy by Pope 
Gregory XIII. in 15S2. This necessitated dropping eleven days. 
February 27th, O. S., is therefore equivalent to March 10th, X. S. 
(New Style). 

CHAPTER III. 

55, 1. The "hero of La Mancha" is, of course, Don Quixote. 
21. This letter is quoted from Letter XXVII of Goldsmith's Citizen 
of the World. 

CHAPTER IV. 

68, 19. Meat was formerly roasted by being turned on a spit before 
the fire, the spit being sometimes turned by a wheel or treadmill worked 
by a dog. 

76, 14. See note on Chapter III. 

CHAPTER V. 

79, 12. Strephon is the name of the lover in Sir Philip Sidney's 
Arcadia, and is often used, as here ironically, for lover. 

83, 16. Mile. Clairon (1723-1802), the most famous French actress 
of the century, is described by Goldsmith in The Bee, No. II. 

26. Drawing to a close; the reference is to the French Revolution, 
which broke out in 17S9. 

84, 12. Voltaire (1694-1778), the celebrated French philosopher and 
writer. Voltaire was in Geneva at the date of Goldsmith's visit to 
France, and the meeting described in the text must have occurred 
at some other time. 

•26. "Fontenelle, Bernard le Bovier de, was born at Rouen in 1657 
and was a nephew of Corneille. In the great quarrel of Moderns 
versus Ancients he sided with the Moderns, assailing the Greeks 
and their French imitators, and receiving in return the satiric shafts 
of Boileau, Racine, and La Bruyere. He died in his hundredth year 
at Paris." — Chambers. 

85, 2. Denis Diderot (1713-1784), a famous French writer. 



EXPLANATORY NOTES. 451 



CHAPTER VI. 



93, 10. An under-master or teacher is in England called an usher. 

23. Anodyne necklace. Medicated necklaces were formerly used 
as a preventative of toothache. Here, of course, the word is used 
humorously, the reference being to a hangman's rope. 

24. Newgate, a famous old London prison. 

96, 9. ^Esculapius, in Greek mythology the son of Apollo and 
celebrated as a physician. 

97, 21. Written Mountains. In Goldsmith's day great interest was 
taken in the deciphering of certain Aramaic inscriptions on the rocky 
hills near Mt. Sinai. They afterwards turned out to be only Arab 
names scratched on the rocks by passers-by in the course of the ages. 



CHAPTER VII. 

101, 4. The two great political parties of England were the Whigs, 
who represented the democratic element in the state, and the Tories, 
representing the aristocracy. 

102, 11. Antiqua mater, the ancient or venerable mother. Grub 
Street was the abode of the poorer class of writers of the day. The 
expression means to adopt with reverence the profession of letters. 

13. Thomas Otway (1651-1685), author of Venice Preserved, died 
in poverty. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

106, 16. Temple Bar, the old gateway before the Temple in London. 
Its site now marks the point where Fleet Street ends and the Strand 
begins. 

111, 17. Maladie du pais, home-sickness. 

112, 7. James Usher (1581-1656), Archbishop of Armagh. He was 
buried in Westminster Abbey. 

113, 10. Mohammed, when urged to perform some miracle as a 
proof of his authority, at first declined, but at last commanded Mount 
Safa to come to him. When the mountain did not move, Mohammed 
said, "If the mountain had obeyed me, we should have been destroyed. 
God has mercifully overruled my command. I shall go to the moun- 
tain, since it will not come to me." The expression has become 
proverbial. 



452 EXPLANATORY NOTES. 

CHAPTER IX. 

115, 6. It is said that Sir Walter Raleigh, when his publisher told 
him of the small sale which the first part of his History of the World 
attained, threw the manuscript of the second part into the fire in 
disgust. 

16. Grub Street was the street where many poor authors lived. 
See page 102, 12. 

23. An East-India Director, a director in the great East India 
House, a company organized to carry on trade with the East Indies. 

123, 15. Samuel Butler, (1612-l'680), the author of Hadibras, died 
in poverty. 

CHAPTER X. 

125, 5. Coromandel, the southeastern part of India. 

126, 16. The Old Bailey, a famous London prison. 

133,23. Rev. Thomas Percy (1729-1811), whose fame rests chiefly 
on his Reliques of Ancient English Poetry. 

27. James Grainger (1721-1766), physician and poetaster. 

112, 6. The twelve rules the royal martyr drew. These rules, 
attributed to Charles I. are: 

Urge no healths; Profane no divine ordinance; Touch no state 
matters; Reveal no secrets; Pick no quarrel; Make no comparisons; 
Maintain no ill opinions; Keep no bad company; Encourage no vice: 
Make no long meals; Repeat no grievance; Lay no wagers. 

143, 6. The Henriade is an epic poem by Voltaire. 

CHAPTER XL 

147, 26. The reference is to Genesis xxi. 14-16; the Ishmaelites 
were the descendants of Ishmael, who was cast out by Abraham. 
The word here is used of authors repudiated by their own class. 

148, 5. James Shirley (1596-1666), a writer of plays and masques. 

3-16. "Mr. Cuthbert Shaw, alike distinguished by his genius, mis- 
fortunes, and misconduct, published this year (1766) a poem called 
The Race, by Mercurius Spur, Esq., in which he whimsically made 
the living poets of England contend for preeminence of fame by 
running: — 

"'Prove by their heels the prowess of the head." " 

— Boswell's Life of Johnson, Chapter XV. 

149, 19. Horace Walpole (1717-1797), son of Sir Robert Walpole, 
and a famous letter-writer and author. 



EXPLANATORY NOTES. 453 

23. The Provoked Husband, an extremely successful comedy begun 
by Sir John Vanbrugh, dramatist and architect (1664-1726), and 
finished by Colley Gibber, actor, manager, dramatist, and poet laureate 
(1671-1757). 

CHAPTER XII. 

154, 5. William Guthrie (1708-1770), author of A History of England, 
and A Historical and Geographical Grammar; Arthur Murphy (1727- 
1805), dramatic writer and publisher of the weekly Gray's Inn Journal; 
Christopher Smart (1722-1770), the author of a prose translation of 
Horace, and of many other translations; Isaac Bickerstaff (1735-1812), 
a writer of plays. 

158, 11. Edward Cave was born in 1691 and started the Gentleman's 
Magazine in 1731. Samuel Johnson became its parliamentary reporter 
in 1740; and with his hand in Johnson's, Cave died at Clerkenwell 
in 1754. 

160, 8. Charles Churchill (1731-1764), satirist and author of The 
Rosciad, a severe criticism of contemporary actors. 

15. Ursa major, the Great Bear, one of the constellations. The refer- 
ence is to Dr. Johnson. 

22. Bennet Langton (1737-1801), a Lincolnshire gentleman, one 
of Dr. Johnson's most intimate friends; George Steevens (1736- 
1800), Shakespearian commentator, and Dr. Johnson's collaborator 
in his edition of Shakespeare (1766). 

161, 1. Samuel Foote (1720-1777), actor and writer of comedy, 
and a famous mimic. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

164, 15. Cock-Lane Ghost. An amusing account of this famous 
hoax will be found in Andrew Lang's Cock-Lane and Common Sense. 
In 1762 a house in Cock-Lane, London, was the scene of many mys- 
terious phenomena (knockings, a luminous apparition, etc.) which 
puzzled some of the most famous men of the day, among them Dr. 
Johnson. 

Beau Nash. Richard Nash (1674-1762) became in 1704 "Master 
of Ceremonies" at Bath, a fashionable watering-place; he rose at once 
to a position of the greatest social influence. 

165, 18. White Conduit House, a famous pleasure-resort near 
Islington. 

166, 14. David Hume (1711-1776), philosopher and historian, 
perhaps best known by his History of the Stuarts, which was con- 



454 EXPLANATORY NOTES. 

tinued by Smollett. Paul de Rapin (1661-1725) came to England 
with the Prince of Orange in 1638, and distinguished himself at the 
Battle of the Boyne; his great Histoire d' Angleterre (translated by 
Tindal) was published in 1724, and is the best work on English history 
which had until then appeared. 

14. Thomas Carte (1686-1754), author of a History of England to 
1654. 

26. Lord Chesterfield, Philip Dormer Stanhope, Earl of Chester- 
field (1694-1773), statesman, orator, wit, and man of letters, whose 
Letters to his Son is an English classic. Lord Orrery, John Boyle 
(1707-1762), fifth Earl of Orrery, friend of Swift and of Pope and 
translator of Pliny's Letters. 

27. Lord Lyttelton, George, Lord Lyttelton (1709-1773), author of 
a History of Henry II., and a poet of reputation. Johnson wrote his 
life. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

172,3. William Hogarth (1697-1764). 

"His powers of invention and combination were extraordinary; 
as a humorist and social satirist with the. pencil he has never been 
surpassed." 

173, 25. Sir Joshua Reynolds (1723-1792), artist and critic. He 
was the first president of the Royal Academy, founded in 176S. His 
most famous portrait is of Mrs. Siddons in the character of the Tragic 
Muse. 

175, 5. Sir James Mackintosh (1765-1832), celebrated as the author 
of Vindicia Gallicoz, a reply to Burke's Reflections on the French Revolu- 
tion. 

178, 13. Grant of free-warren, permission to hunt wild animals in 
a specified area to the exclusion of all other hunters. 

180, 24. Lord Lansdowne, George Granville (1667-1735), the friend 
of Pope, and author of several plays. 

181, 15. A title of a set of pictures by Hogarth. 
182,8. George Selwyn (1719-1791), a famous wit. 

CHAPTER XV. 

191, 10. Charles James Fox (1749-1806), statesman. During the 
troubles that led up to the American Revolution, Fox was a deter- 
mined opponent of the coercive measures of the government. Burke 
called him "the greatest debater the world ever saw." 



EXPLANATORY NOTES. 455 

25. Jack Hawksworth, Rev. John Hawksworth (1715-1773), suc- 
ceeded Dr. Johnson on the Gentleman's Magazine. 

CHAPTER XVI. 
19-4, 10. Nil te quaesiveris extra, " Ask for nothing further." 
197, 13. "The Hermit." See Vicar of Wakefield, Chapter VIII. 
199, 25, 26. Philantos, Philalethes, Philelentheros, and Philanthopos, 

Greek words meaning respectively Lover of Himself, Lover of Truth, 

Lover of Freedom, and Lover of Man. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

205, 23. Rogers. Samuel Rogers (1763-1855), author of The 
Pleasures of Memory and Italy. 

210, 16. I recommended Blainville's Travels. A translation from 
the French of this book of travel had been published and the follow- 
ing letter from Goldsmith had been widely circulated in advertising it: 

I have read the Travels of Monsieur de Blainville with the highest 
pleasure. As far as I am capable of judging they are at once accurate, 
copious, and entertaining. I am told they are now first translated 
from the Author's Manuscript in the French Language, which has 
never been published: and if so, they are a valuable acquisition to 
ours. The Translation as I am informed has been made by Men of 
Eminence, and is not unworthy of the Original. All I have to add is, 
that, to the best of my opinion, Blainville's Travels is the most valuable 
Work of this kind hitherto published: Containing the most judicious 
Instruction to those who read for Amusement, and being the surest 
Guide to those who intend to undertake the same Journey. 

Oliver Goldsmith. 

Temple. March 2, 1767. 

213, 19. Colman. George Colman, "the Elder" (1732-1794), play- 
wright and successively manager of the Covent Garden and Hay- 
market Theaters. Beside The Clandestine Marriage mentioned in 
the text, he wrote Polly Honeycomb and The Jealous Wife. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

225, 9. Jehu, a coachman. The reference is to 2 Kings, ix. 20. "The 
watchman told, saying, . . . The driving is like the driving of Jehu 
the son of Nimshi; for he driveth furiously." 

21. The Three Jolly Pigeons, the name of an ale-house which is the 
scene of part of Goldsmith's She Stoops to Conquer. 

228, 25. Every Man in his Humor, perhaps Jonson's best play. 



456 EXPLANATORY NOTES. 

CHAPTER XX. 

230, 11. Great Cham, now written Khan, the title of the sovereign 
prince of Tartarv. Dr. Johnson was called by Smollett "The Great 
Cham of Literature." 

235, 21. Whitehead, William (1715-1785), became in 1755 secretary 
of the Order of the Bath, and in 1757 poet laureate. He wrote 
tragedies, elegies, comedies, farces, epistles, etc., — all forgotten. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

238, 12. Quintus Roscius, the greatest of Roman actors, died b.c. 62. 
The name is often used, as here, as synonymous with "actor." 

240, 21. Frederick, Lord North, became in 1767 Chancellor of the 
Exchequer and leader of the House of Commons. He was largely 
responsible for the measures that brought about the loss of America, 
being too ready to surrender his judgment to the King's. 

24. Junius and Wilkes. Forty-four letters on political subjects, 
and signed "Junius," appeared in the Public Advertiser between 
1769 and 1772. They are now generally attributed to Sir Philip 
Francis, although he always denied that he was the author. At the 
time Hugh Boyd was also mentioned as possibly their author. John 
Wilkes (1727-1797), a brilliant politician, a powerful writer, and a 
profligate and unscrupulous man. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

248, 1. The true end of speech, etc. This famous saying, which 
is usually attributed to Talleyrand, is really Voltaire's, according to 
Dr. Brewer, in spite of the confidence with which Irving here attributes 
it to Goldsmith. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

251, 19. Blackstone, Sir William (1723-1780), successively Pro- 
fessor of English Law at Oxford, King's Counsel, Member of Parlia- 
ment, and Solicitor General, and Justice of "the Court of Common 
Pleas. His fame rests on his lectures, Commentaries on the Laws of 
England, 1765-1769. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

268, 4. Angelica Kauffman (1741-1807), a Swiss artist who came to 
London in 1766, where she was prominent in artistic and social life 
until 1781, when she married and went to live in Italy. Her story 



EXPLANATORY NOTES. 457 

furnished the theme for Thackeray's Miss Angel. Many of her paint- 
ings were engraved by Bartolozzi. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

270,9. Henry Grattan (1746-1820), Irish statesman and reformer, 
and a leader in the cause of Catholic emancipation. 

271, 24. A description of Ranelagh is given on page 354 of the text. 

"The Spring Gardens at Vauxhall" are mentioned in the Spectator 
as a place of great resort in 1711; and at a much earlier date Samuel 
Pepys speaks of the entertainments there as " highly divertising." 

273, 2. William Robertson, D.D. (1721-1793), became in 1764 
"King's historiographer." His History of Scotland, 1542-1603, was 
a great success, and his History of Charles V. was highly praised by 
Gibbon. 

3. Sir James Dairy mple published in 1705 his Collections Concerning 
the Scottish History Preceding 1153. 

274, 1. Lucius Florus and Eutropius, Latin historians living in the 
second and fourth centuries respectively. The Breviarum Historice 
Romance of the latter is an epitome of Roman history from the found- 
ing of the city to 364 a.d., and is still read. 

2. Vertot (1655-1735), a French historian of Rome. 

21. Buffon. George Louis Leclerc, Comte de Buffon (1707-1778), 
the famous author of the Histoire Naturelle in fifteen volumes (pub- 
lished 1749-67), in which all the then known facts of natural science 
are eloquently discussed. 

23. Cumberland. Richard Cumberland (1732-1811), author and 
playwright. Cumberland is alluded to in Goldsmith's Retaliation as 
"the Terence of England, the mender of hearts," and is the original 
of "Sir Fretful Plagiary" in Sheridan's Critic. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

287, 21. Forsitan, etc., "Perchance our name also shall be en- 
rolled with these." 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

294, 24. Ninety years after the death of Gay (1685-1732), the 
celebrated author of the Fables and The Beggar's Opera, a secret 
drawer containing a number of manuscript poems was found in an 
old chair which he had used. These poems were published in a 
volume entitled Gay's Chair. 



458 EXPLANATORY NOTES. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

304, 1. Samuel Dyer (1725-1772), a well-known translator. See 
page 176 et seq. 

306, 22. Beau Tibbs is a character in Goldsmith's Citizen of the 
World. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

310, 17. Thomas Parnell (1679-1718) was the friend of Harley, 
Swift, and Pope, who brought out a selection from his poems in 1719. 
His best-known poems are the Hermit, the Nightpiece, and the Hymn 
to Contentment. 

311, 22. Henry St. John, Viscount Bolingbroke (167S-1751), was 
successively Secretary for War (1704) and Foreign Secretary (1710), 
and shared the leadership of his party with Harley. He was made 
a peer in 1712, and in 1713 he negotiated the peace of Utrecht. After 
intriguing successfully for Harley's downfall, he was plotting a Jacobite 
restoration when Queen Anne died, and George I. became king. He 
fled to France, and for a time acted as Secretary of State to the Pre- 
tender. While living abroad he wrote his Reflections on Exile. In 
1723 he returned to England, and became prominent in literary circles. 
At this time he wrote a series of letters attacking Walpole which were 
reprinted with the title, A Dissertation on Parties. He went again 
to France in 1735 and remained till 1742, when he returned to England, 
spending the last years of his life in literary work. 

312, 7. The reference is to Hannibal's headquarters in the Second 
Punic War. The luxury of Capua so demoralized his army as to 
make the time spent in winter quarters much worse than lost. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

317, 11. Ossian. In 1762 James Macpherson (1738-1796) pub- 
lished Fingal, an Ancient Poem, composed by Ossian, which he 
professed to have translated from the Gaelic of Ossian, a poet of the 
third century. The authenticity of this and another poem, alleged 
to be translated from Ossian and published by Macpherson in the 
following year, was the subject of much discussion in the eighteenth 
century. It is now thought that both poems were original with 
Macpherson. 

27. Gray and Mason. Thomas Gray (1716-1771), best known by 
his Elegy in a Country Churchyard, one of the most scholarly of English 



EXPLANATORY NOTES. 459 

poets, and Professor of History and Modern Languages at Cambridge. 
William Mason (1724-1797), Gray's executor and biographer. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

330, 8. Drawcansir, a blustering bully, a character in Buckingham's 
comedy, The Rehearsal. 

332, 8. Argumentum ad hominem, an argument to the man, that is, 
an argument deriving its force from the situation of the person to 
whom it is addressed. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

336, 22. Nicholas Boileau, or Boileau Despreaux (1636-1711), a 
French poet and critic of great influence. 

337,2,3. Haec studia, etc., "These studies are our companions by 
night, in travel, and in the country." 

339, 11. The Lusiad, an epic poem dealing with the adventures of 
the Lusians or Portuguese under Vasco da Gama, in their discovery 
of India. Camoens, the author, is regarded as one of the five great 
European epic poets, the other four being Homer, Virgil, Dante, and 
Milton. 

340, 18. "Junius." See note 240, 24. 

19. Sir William Chambers (1726-1796), a well-known architect of 
the time. 

342, 15. The late George Colman, a son of the George Colman 
who was a member of the club. The younger Colman was a writer of 
farces and comedies and a theater manager. He died in 1836. 

344, 26. Garrick was the butt of many jokes because of his diminu- 
tive size. 

345, 14. Mrs. Vesey's and Mrs. Montagu's. These ladies had 
literary salons frequented by both social and literary celebrities. 

349, 13. The Stratford Jubilee. On this occasion Boswell appeared 
in a Corsican costume in honor of General Paoli, the Corsican patriot, 
who was in London at the time. 

19. Scrub, a comic character in Farquhar's comedy the "Beau's 
Stratagem." 

350, 15. Malagrida, an Italian priest who was burned at the stake 
for heresy in Lisbon in 1761. 

352. 28. Baretti was an Italian who assisted Johnson in the mak- 
ing of the Dictionary. 



460 EXPLANATORY NOTES. 

355, 16. Pantheon, a London music hall opened in 1772. 
17. Hippocrene and Aganippe were fountains sacred to the Muses. 
Those who drank of them were supposed to become inspired. 

360, 26. Pam, the knave of clubs, so called in the game of Loo. 

361, 28. Fielding, a distinguished judge of the period. 

362, 2. Bunches of fennel, used in court to keep off infection. 

370, 25. Hystaspes. Darius, King of Persia, was the son of 
Hystaspes. He became king as the result of an agreement with six 
other Persian princes that he whose horse neighed first should be 
king. 

371, 1. Flapper, a reference to Swift's Gulliver's Travels. 
"Those persons (in the imaginary kingdom of Laputa) who are able 

to afford it always keep a flapper in their family. The business of this 
officer is gently to stroke the mouth of him who is to speak, and the 
right ear of him who is to listen." 

374, 20. Ride si sapis, " Laugh if you are wise." 

378, 12. Vous vous noyez par vanite", "You injure yourself by your 
vanity." 

380, 23. Brise le miroir, etc., " Break the unfaithful mirror which 
hides the truth from you." 

384, 12. Mrs. Williams, one of Johnson's dependents. 

385, 10. Miss Burney (1752-1840), an English novelist, the author 
of Evelina, commonly called Fanny Burney. 

395, 8. Pilgarlic, a sneaking fellow. 

400, 15. Ex cathedra, from the bench, i.e., authoritatively; originally 
used in connection with decisions from the Pope or others high in 
authority. 

25. Launcelot Gobbo. Irving has made an error here. It is Launce 
in the Two Gentlemen of Verona who delivers the famous charge to 
his dog. Launcelot Gobbo is a character in the Merchant of Venice. 

402, 22. Mr. Toplady, the author of the famous hymn Rock of Ages. 

408, 13. Berkeleyan system, the philosophical system of Bishop 
Berkeley. 

17. Dr. Burney, Fanny Burney's father, a distinguished musician 
and writer on musical subjects 

417,9. Ugolino. The story of Ugolino is told in Dante's Inferno, 
Canto XXXIII. He was an Italian of the thirteenth century who 
perished in prison with his two sons. As a matter of fact, Sir Joshua 
did not have LTgolino in mind when he painted the picture, but Gold- 
smith's suggestion led to the naming of it. 



EXPLANATORY NOTES. 46L 

4»3 17 Scarron, a French writer of the seventeenth century. 

m 11*. Ninon de 1'Enclos, a great beauty and *it of the seven- 
teenth century in France. She is proverbial as having preserved her 
youthful loveliness to an advanced age. 

437, 2. Joseph Nollekens, an English sculptor of the day, who also 
made busts of Garrick and Sterne. 



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